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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25717081">like an ordinary fool (when his ordinary dreams fall through)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazer/pseuds/Jazer'>Jazer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>dismiss your fears [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dr. STONE (Anime), Dr. STONE (Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety Attacks, Birthday Parties, Character Study, Flowers, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Modern AU, Trust Issues, almost everyone from the squad appears for a sec, but it's a slow process because gen is being gen, depressive episodes, friendship everywhere - Freeform, gen: you can't be friends with me cuz i'm having a rough time in life, how does that work and why Kohaku is there? who cares, kind of, lots and lots of metaphors, minor Lillian Weinberg/Ishigami Byakuya, senkuu and his science, senkuu: i'm gonna be your friend because i think you're neat anyways, that i had to spent hours googling, the whole petrification beam doesn't happen, there's a stalker for a brief moment and he's creepy, they're all a family</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:28:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,765</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25717081</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazer/pseuds/Jazer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gen will never, ever be someone more than an investment.</p>
<p>Although, he supposes, it’s better to be an investment than a target practice for a bottle of unfinished vodka.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or: sometimes you end up getting the short end of the stick and your mind tries to take over to protect you - and Asagiri Gen, he's just learning how to recover the pieces of himself that fell apart along the way.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Asagiri Gen &amp; Ishigami Senkuu, Asagiri Gen &amp; Ogawa Yuzuriha, Asagiri Gen &amp; Ooki Taiju, Asagiri Gen &amp; Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>dismiss your fears [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548505</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>107</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1. born for the part</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from Autoheart's, Ordinary Fool.</p>
<p>did we finally get gen's backstory with that novel or nah? i sure hope not, but even if, the story itself was written back in march, probably, and i've only just cleaned it up. so it doesn't really matter that much. </p>
<p>i'd like to say that it has some meaning here, but it's mostly me venting, and me writing down something when i was at my lowest, so if characters seem ooc that's probably why - i didn't bother changing much, so it's heavy on thought process and all that mushy stuff that i doubt anyone will actually read through. in case someone actually does - which i don't envy - lemme just say, thanks, a lot, and i hope it comes across as it should. </p>
<p>i've broken it into three parts, so i will probably publish the rest soon enough. any mistakes, plot holes - i'm aware there are some - feel free to point them out, but unless i feel better, i doubt i will actually have strenght to correct them. </p>
<p>i probably forgot something here, and i will have to update the tags, but yeah. i think that's pretty much it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gen is very, very young when it happens. He knows, because he couldn’t even reach the kitchen counter back then and everything, even the smallest things, seemed too big for him. They do now, too, but it’s a different kind of big than it was then. Now, Gen chokes on lies he made up himself; now Gen suffocates on the air so toxic he can almost see it green.</p>
<p>But back then—</p>
<p>When he was little—</p>
<p>There was his mother with her black, matted hair a mess, with her red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands filling yet another glass with alcohol. There was her voice, hoarse from shouting and loud from not being able to know how loud she actually is, telling him things, telling him <em>terrible and awful</em> things.</p>
<p>“Foolish child,” she’d say, but Gen wonders—wondered; maybe that’s not her talking at all, maybe that’s just the liquid in her head, “who do you think you’re lying to?”</p>
<p>He wasn’t. (He hasn’t.)</p>
<p>Not back then, not yet. Back then, Gen just hanged around her. He’d let her cry and sob her way through the night, he’d hold her as she vomited her dinner, her lunch, her everything because she drank too much and he’d watch over her, as best as he could, for as long as he could and even then—</p>
<p>Even then, Gen couldn’t make himself say what he wanted.</p>
<p>The ‘I hate you’ never going past his lips.</p>
<p>Instead, “I love you, Mama,” he’d say and she’d snarl at him and hurl a bottle of him, yelling at him to get out and go to his room, because he doesn’t understand, he could <em>never</em> understand—</p>
<p>She was right, he realized back when he was young.</p>
<p>He didn’t understand.</p>
<p>(He <em>still </em>doesn’t.)</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“Isn’t that kind of unfair that you get to cut classes <em>just</em> because?”</p>
<p>Hanako, the very small, very angry, very spiteful girl liked to butt her nose into things that weren’t her business. She holds herself above all others and thinks she’s one of those ‘special kids’ in their very local, very average school. Gen would tell her what he really thinks of her, but he’s learnt to hold back.</p>
<p>Instead, he looks up from his textbook – the physics one, because he may act confident, but physics and any other hard science never worked well with him and he has to<em>, has to read through it again and again</em> to actually understand something, unlike the humanities subjects where he skimps over the text like it’s nothing – and only then, he sends her a smile.</p>
<p>She falters, like every time he does that. She’s weak like this, to people’s charms.</p>
<p>“Hanako-chan, I assure you that I’m not cutting classes just because,” he says, and makes sure his voice is just enough amount of sweet and calm, “I’m absent because I—“</p>
<p>“You’re a liar.”</p>
<p>He stops.</p>
<p>Her voice is obnoxious as it carries around and echoes in the classroom even though it’s full of students. Even though they’re all used to Hanako’s blunt and usually insensitive comments, this one still manages to turn few heads towards them.</p>
<p>Gen tilts his head and pretends he doesn’t care at all, “Pardon me?”</p>
<p>“This!” she gestures vaguely at him, red flush on her cheeks, “we’re <em>too </em>young to have jobs. So you <em>have to</em> be lying.”</p>
<p>“I’m not,” he reassures and wills his smile to not crack, “I’ve been scouted young. I’ve explained that before.”</p>
<p>He did. He had to, actually, in order to make teachers more placid, more willing to work with him.</p>
<p>It’s this thing his manager told him – the faster you get something over with, the less effort you have to put in. Like ripping off a band-aid. Gen likes to think the rule applies to more than just interviews and homework.</p>
<p>(For if you cut yourself off from others early, you don’t have to watch them leave first.)</p>
<p>“Yeah?” she puts her hands on her hips. It makes her look even more immature, “Prove it!”</p>
<p>Gen feels very, very tired, but he’s also very petty, so he smiles, all teeth and no softness and says, “I don’t see anyone asking you to prove you didn’t cheat on your maths exam and yet we all know you did, anyways.”</p>
<p>She splutters and turns around, walking away, crimson furiously staining her face.</p>
<p>Gen turns to his physics textbook.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Hanako, despite telling him over and over again that she hates him and doesn’t believe a word that comes out of his mouth, sticks close. Like a glue. There isn’t a comment that Gen could utter that would make her permanently leave.</p>
<p>It borders on annoying.</p>
<p>Gen doesn’t have many friends, himself, so he allows it. He allows her to talk his ear off and then complain about what another girl told her. He bears it with a smile and a soft reply that she always rebuts with some comment on her own.</p>
<p>Hanako doesn’t have many friends, either, but it’s different than Gen.</p>
<p>Gen is <em>surrounded</em> by people – he laughs and plays with them, he offers advice and shares his lunch and sweets. He hugs and initiates conversation, never letting someone take the lead. And people like that – they rant, they ramble, they open up. Hanako is loud and bold – she thinks everyone wants to know her and ends up talking with everyone, thus irritating most of the class on more than one occasion.</p>
<p>Yet, it’s one-sided. Twenty kids he could consider friends only consider him a friend when it’s convenient, when he slips up and lets them say things he never wanted to hear. The second he tries to rant himself, they close themselves up and change the topic.</p>
<p>It’s fine, he ends up telling himself.</p>
<p>He’s not as interesting. He barely shows up at school to make real connection, so he gets it – they don’t want someone who could disappear the  next day.</p>
<p>Yet, Hanako sticks.</p>
<p>She giggles at his dry remarks, and turns red when he calls her out on being rude. She fixes her hair when she thinks no one is looking. She scratches at her wrists when she’s nervous. She’s so painfully normal that Gen catches himself fascinated, sometimes.</p>
<p>How someone so plain tries to be someone unique.</p>
<p>Like there’s a meaning.</p>
<p>Like someone cares.</p>
<p>In the end, he thinks it’s because he’s been always alone that he let her stick so close. Only after he realized, that maybe, just maybe, she was a bit lonely, too.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Gen knows he never thought of this house he lives in as home and that’s because the walls permanently smell of alcohol, the daily chores are always done on time but sometimes it’s not enough to make it look clean anyways, and even though Gen tries, it just never feels welcoming.</p>
<p>His Mama, or maybe Mother now. He doesn’t remember when he switched from this to that, but she’s not around a lot and when she is, she doesn’t recognize where she is and she doesn’t know much about what’s going on. So, Gen sometimes imagines that he lives alone.</p>
<p>Where no one can hurt him.</p>
<p>Where no one can see the shattered glass.</p>
<p>Where no one can see how much of a Asagiri Gen there actually is under the masterfully crafted mask of Asagiri Gen the Mentalist.</p>
<p>His room is bare. There are no posters or photo frames – he knows better than to show them off, for that one time he did his Mother nearly trashed the room; perhaps she was reminded too much of the fact that it’s because of <em>Gen</em> she’s miserable  and that’s why she freaked out when she was looking at the photo of her and him fresh out of the hospital. There is a desk and a suitcase in a corner, though, so it’s not totally empty.</p>
<p>He uses the desk to do his homework – it piles up after, sometimes, weeks of absence. He spreads out the papers his manager gives him to memorize, to pull of perfectly. He uses the desk to lay his head down and pretend that he’s doing something productive, something good – when the truth is that he takes a nap, exhausted.</p>
<p>It’s hard.</p>
<p>The suitcase is there for when he needs to fly somewhere. He’s been to lots of places already and with each flight, Gen thinks he forgets the meaning of home even more. The Rome, the USA. England at some point was one of the places he remembers the most vividly, because man – it poured and washed away everything.</p>
<p>He liked USA. Well—</p>
<p>Maybe not the country itself. He thinks he loved the people there, though – the ones who slip through the cracks in the system. The underdogs. He meet a lot of those on his way down the sidewalk to the studio. And a lot of them glared at him, as if saying ‘you’re lucky, boy’, because Gen trampled there all in his glory with clothes that cost more than all of their breakfasts piled together.</p>
<p>That’s not true, though. Those clothes look rich, because his manager buys them and has them tailored specially for him. Gen knows the feeling of dirtiness, of shame – he knows of hunger too deep to satisfy, he knows of the way he has to hold himself up to not let anyone know how embarrassed he is of being the way he is, of living where he does.</p>
<p>He found out about this songstress, then. Lillian Weinberg.</p>
<p>He remembers Hanako in class noisily comment on her – of how she’s an attention seeker. Gen didn’t understand back then, so he looked it up during his break.</p>
<p>In Hanako’s book – Lilian was seeking attention. <em>Lying.</em></p>
<p>In Gen’s and the other side of the world – she was bringing the attention to those who need it. With honesty.</p>
<p><em>My father</em>, she spoke, voice clear and loud for all of them to hear, <em>was an alcoholic. I grew up listening to an old radio, some beat up one I found, and that’s why I kept going. I heard the voices singing, people cheering. I heard them and I repeated them.</em></p>
<p>Gen listened to the whole interview.</p>
<p>He probably hit ‘replay’ button a bit too much and too often for his liking.</p>
<p>The interviewer asked a lot of unnecessary questions before this bit, as if preparing her for the last one. The tactic was to ease her into it and make her spill, make her more willing to share. The media were like predators, after all. Even so—<em>even so—</em></p>
<p>“<em>My mom died when I was young</em>,” Lillian on the screen is saying, “<em>so it was just me and my father. It didn’t take long for him to take liking to the alcohol. And I wanted to hate him for it, you know? I mean, he wasn’t very nice to me after drinking few cups.”</em></p>
<p><em>“So, you’re saying it wasn’t his fault</em>?” the interviewer asks, narrowing her eyes.</p>
<p>Lillian levels her with a hard as rock gaze and the interviewer leans back a little. She’s not afraid, she’s confident. She knows what she’s saying. Like she rehearsed it pretty often.</p>
<p>“<em>It’s not a matter of whose fault it was</em>,” Lillian says, “<em>the matter was that it</em> wasn’t mine. <em>He never apologized if he hit too hard, he just tried to make </em>me <em>apologize. I know, Miss, that there are a lot of people out there making excuses for people like him. The ‘he was grieving’ and ‘we’re all human’ ones. But you know what</em>,” Lillian’s eyes aren’t smiling, but her lips are pulled into somewhat a grin, “<em>I was, too. And I’m human, just like him. And I’m saying I didn’t deserve that</em>.”</p>
<p>“<em>It made you strong</em>,” the lady on the screen tries to save herself, obviously embarrassed.</p>
<p>Lillian’s grin looks more like a grimace, “<em>I didn’t need to be strong. I needed to be safe</em>.”</p>
<p>Gen repeated this video over and over again.</p>
<p>Listened to it over and over again.</p>
<p>He wanted to memorize it. He wanted to drink all of it, all the words. He wanted to believe them, to be on the same level as Lillian Weinberg. To be able to say it’s not his fault, it never was.</p>
<p>He couldn’t.</p>
<p>And so he hit the ‘replay’ button again.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>His manager pulls him aside one day and tells him this:</p>
<p>“School is a hindrance, Asagiri-kun. If you want to make it big, we need to focus on getting you to the big stage.”</p>
<p>Week later, his manager wrestles the written permission  from his mother and handles all the paperwork involved to make it possible to home-school him. Agreement was that she was to make an effort, an active effort, to help and educate him while he also works on his career.</p>
<p>She never does.</p>
<p>Gen buys the textbooks. He learns.</p>
<p>His mother buys alcohol. She drinks.</p>
<p>At least he doesn’t have to see Hanako anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>All of it afterwards is a blur. Bowing, dressing. Thanking, apologizing. Eating and sleeping. Doing his make-up, and taking it off.</p>
<p>Gen wants it. Craves it. The attention. The love.</p>
<p>It’s not what he wants now.</p>
<p>He wants the normalcy and stability. He wants to wake up and know how it is to look out the window and not feel empty and lifeless – he wants to know how it is to smile and mean it. He wants to go home but he doesn’t have one. He wants to taste food that tastes like food and not like ash.</p>
<p>He needs it.</p>
<p>He craves it.</p>
<p>He wonders.</p>
<p>His new manager, the pretty and all dressed up to kill at any time, Kasumi tells him to take it easy now. It’s new. The care in her eyes, the genuine want to make him succeed but not let him burn out like many other, young stars do. Her hands are gentle as she fixes his scarf and corrects his suit.</p>
<p>She smells like flowers.</p>
<p>Gen likes it. It helps to get rid of the smell of alcohol lingering in his clothes all the time.</p>
<p>“You’re climbing up, Asagiri-kun,” Kasumi says and she smiles when he looks at her, “people love what you do.”</p>
<p>Not <em>who you are</em>. Never him.</p>
<p>The fact that she calls him that. Asagiri. Never his name, because names are personal. Names are for friends and family, not for business. It tells him all – that despite her being all nice, being all kind and thoughtful - she’s still only his manager. If Gen fails, they will find someone else.</p>
<p>So he bears.</p>
<p>So he acts.</p>
<p>So he lets her pet his hair and lets her tell him everything about proper manners, proper etiquette. He lets her take him to galas when they happen and she needs to show him off; he lets her call his doctors, he lets her do things his mother should and thinks—</p>
<p>
  <em>This all will end one day.</em>
</p>
<p>Gen is a lot of things, but foolish is not one of those – he will climb higher, become more popular and people will love that, will soak that in. And then, Gen will sit back, take off the scarf and take off his make-up and he will look in the mirror to see the deep bangs under his eyes and he will know.</p>
<p>Show business is not family.</p>
<p>Show business is not friends.</p>
<p>And Gen will never, ever be someone more than an investment.</p>
<p>Although, he supposes, it’s better to be an investment than a target practice for a bottle of unfinished vodka.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Kasumi suggest writing a book.</p>
<p>Gen pretends the idea is exciting and he waves his hands and taps his fingers on the blank pages in front of him. He stills his breaths and asks, “A book? What a wonderful idea, Kasumi-san. What about?”</p>
<p>“Psychology, of course.”</p>
<p><em>Funny</em>, he thinks.</p>
<p>“Awesome,” he says.</p>
<p>Her eyes glint, “You’ve proved to be a very intelligent young man, Asagiri-san. The youth will love it. I already have your fan-mail overflowing with love letters, imagine what will happen if we get you a book and signing session.”</p>
<p>She sighs, dreamily, “Your popularity will sky-rocket.”</p>
<p>Gen doesn’t get much sleep lately, but he nods and smiles and accepts it, like it’s that easy. Like his body isn’t begging him to stop and sleep, like it’s not begging him to take a breather and allow himself to relax.</p>
<p>Psychology is a funny thing, but Gen doesn’t let her know that, because then she will realize. Gen just starts writing, and as he writes he learns. He already knew much more than a person his age would – and he must know a lot, for if his mother won’t teach him he will do it himself – but this time it’s different. This time, he practically speeds through it.</p>
<p>He writes.</p>
<p>And writes.</p>
<p>And he does all he needs to ensure it’s all in, his thoughts, his opinion. He can’t really get something that is medically correct – he hasn’t been in class for a long time and he never got a degree in psychology anyways, but he does write anyways.</p>
<p>His manager is happy when he turns it in.</p>
<p>And he knows it’s because the book will be revised and edited and it will be left so different he won’t recognize any word of it as his own.</p>
<p>Kasumi says it’s good.</p>
<p>Kasumi says the masses will love it.</p>
<p>(They do.</p>
<p>And when they do that signing session, Gen plasters a forced smile on his face the whole time).</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>His mother stops yelling at him at some point in his life.</p>
<p>Gen stops checking up on her at some point in his life.</p>
<p>They stop seeing each other, at some point in their lives.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s tired, so tired.</p>
<p>He’s exhausted, so exhausted.</p>
<p>“Take it easy!” Kasumi says cheerfully from his side as he drinks his cola, as he rolls up his sleeves and pretends he doesn’t want to pass out and die, “Soon, we will have you known around the whole world.”</p>
<p>He wants to sleep.</p>
<p>He wants to never sleep again.</p>
<p>There are nightmares where he’s a little too late and the bottle hits his face and he wakes up screaming; there are times when he thinks he can see himself bleed in the morning and when the birds sing it’s almost unbearable.</p>
<p>He doesn’t welcome the warmth of his bed because it feels cold, now.</p>
<p>It’s because it doesn’t chase away the freezing of his bones, the chilling sweat rolling down his back as he presents in front of the TV. He doesn’t know how it was to have his hands dry and relaxed – now they’re stiff and sweaty.</p>
<p>He feels dirty when he catches men looking at him in the streets. He’s famous now, after all. Enough to be recognized on the streets.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t have done that without you, Kasumi-san,” Gen says and his mind isn’t quite here, but he knows that without her he’d be still somewhere under, somewhere in the ditch, maybe, “Thank you for getting me that far.”</p>
<p>Her hand closes on his arm and he doesn’t flinch. He’s learnt not to.</p>
<p>“You’re doing all the hard work, Asagiri-kun!”</p>
<p>“Don’t be so modest, Kasumi-san,” he smiles and draws out his voice in something more melodic, “I appreciate your efforts, but you’re the one who manages to make this all work.”</p>
<p>Her eyes go soft at that and her hands let go of his. She fixes her hair.</p>
<p>She smiles. Gen wonders why it comes so naturally for her to smile genuinely and not ironically like he does.</p>
<p>“Always a charmer, Asagiri-kun.”</p>
<p><em>Always a charmer, indeed,</em> he thinks, drinking his cola.</p>
<p>The show must go on, after all.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Someone keeps sending him stuff.</p>
<p>Saying stuff.</p>
<p>Showing stuff.</p>
<p>He’s disgusted as he reads it and he deletes every message. He doesn’t mention it to Kasumi just yet, brushing it off as an innocent enough incidents. The person on the other side of the phone can’t know more about him than what is on TV anyways.</p>
<p>And yet, it doesn’t stop.</p>
<p>He thought the show business like his wouldn’t catch attention of men like <em>that</em> – those thirsty, old men – but he’s been wrong, so wrong. A foolish mistake on his part. A stupid move to ignore that.</p>
<p>If he got a hold of his phone number then he knew how to find him. Gen realizes it a bit too late.</p>
<p>But back then, Gen’s only worry was finding a job and when he got one – far too young, far too innocent to fully understand – he was excited. He is, still, because he truly likes what he’s doing – most of the time. He should have known, though – should have realized sooner.</p>
<p>If you get fans, you get haters, too.</p>
<p>If you get fan-mail, you also get death threats.</p>
<p>If you make yourself popular, more people want to know you, be <em>with</em> you. And Gen, starved for any attention, allowed himself too much. Social media, signing sessions. Even if he was just a mentalist rumors spread and people talk – and when they do, you suddenly realize that some people want too much.</p>
<p>Crave too much.</p>
<p>(Like him).</p>
<p>It’s a cloudy afternoon when it gets too much. His phone vibrates in his pocket and it’s annoying – but when he checks why, it becomes scary. Like, very scary. Gen isn’t a coward, but you get this tight feeling in your chest when someone you don’t know texts you and tells you they’re outside the building you usually work at.</p>
<p>And so Gen stares at it.</p>
<p>And so he feels his heart stop and then beat a little too much, a little too fast and he leans against the wall. The studio is mostly empty and Kasumi already went home for the day. The guards, maybe…?</p>
<p>He shakes his head.</p>
<p>He takes a step, then another.</p>
<p>It’s just one person. It can’t be as bad as Gen’s mind wants to imagine it as. He’s dealt with his fair share of unpleasant people, rude people, needy people. What’s one more? It’s the logic he goes by as he takes his stuff, but keeps his hold onto his phone, an emergency number on the display ready to be ringed.</p>
<p>He walks through the front door and pauses for a hot second, eyes looking around. He doesn’t see anyone and it isn’t so dark, anyways, so he knows no one is waiting in the bushes, too. Some knots inside his chest loosen as he resumes walking.</p>
<p>Only to be grabbed by his arm.</p>
<p>Only to be turned around and oh—</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, shit.</em>
</p>
<p>“Excuse me,” Gen smiles and tilts his head, fingers twitching onto the green button on the phone, “Can I help you?”</p>
<p>“Asagiri Gen.”</p>
<p>The man is almost twice as tall as he is. And old, Gen would probably give him forty or something, judging by the lines onto his forehead and the way he slouched as if he was already having back pains. He’s dressed casually, like he was waiting to be greeted by a friend.</p>
<p>There’s nothing in his appearance that should make Gen terrified.</p>
<p>But his smell – this faint alcoholic smell Gen would notice anywhere, if only because it makes him nauseous – it sparks something inside him; this fight or flight response he tries to ignore and pretend to be relaxed.</p>
<p>“That’s me,” Gen confirms and makes his eyes rest in the middle of the man’s face, “Can I help you?”</p>
<p>The man smiles wide and tugs him further against him. Gen wills himself to not react much, “You can actually. I have waited to meet you for a long time, you see. The famous Asagiri Gen, the Magician—“</p>
<p>“A mentalist, actually,” Gen corrects and tugs at his arm, still in the man’s grip, “Am I right to assume you’re a fan?”</p>
<p>The teeth glint, sharp, as the man replies, “Indeed.”</p>
<p>“And your name…?”</p>
<p>“Let’s just stick with Hoshi.”</p>
<p>“Hoshi, then,” Gen tugs harder, but Hoshi doesn’t budge. It doesn’t look like he even noticed anything, “I’m meeting a friend at the station now, but perhaps we could arrange a meeting instead?”</p>
<p>That throws the man off the loop.</p>
<p>Hoshi blinks as if surprised and his grip loosens. Gen takes his arm away, “A meeting?”</p>
<p>“You’re a fan. You sought me out,” Gen points to the phone in his hand, “I’ve already texted my manager anyways. I’m quite impressed you managed to find me.”</p>
<p>“You texted—when?” Hoshi steps forwards. Gen forces himself to stay in place.</p>
<p>“A while ago. She should be here in few minutes, she’s picking me up after all,” he nods to the busy streets and then, whispers, “You’re the one sending me your dick pictures, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>Hoshi stiffens, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just—“</p>
<p>“Harassing me,” Gen speaks quietly, playing with his phone. Hoshi looks anxiously at the streets, as if waiting for Kasumi that Gen knows won’t come, “and you best stop that, if you don’t want me taking you to the court. I don’t like being threatened.”</p>
<p>“The police I called before I walked out won’t take kindly to you, either,” Gen continues and through the thunderous beat of his heart, he leans forwards with a smile, “But if you stop sending me pictures, stop texting me and never show your face around here ever again, I will be kind to forget this ever happened.”</p>
<p>“Gen-san—“</p>
<p>“It’s Asagiri for you,” Gen cuts in.</p>
<p>“Asagiri-san,” Hoshi looks pale and sweating, gaze darting from Gen’s face to the streets and the opposite side of the sidewalk they’re on, “I apologize.”</p>
<p>Gen stays quiet.</p>
<p>“It won’t happen again.”</p>
<p>“Obviously,” he drawls out, “I sure hope not.”</p>
<p>Hoshi’s hands tremble as he backs away and sends Gen a last, shaky smile, “We will forget that, right?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” Gen agrees easily, “I’m such a nice young man, after all,” Hoshi’s eyes lock on his lips and Gen swallows down disgust, “That’s what you thought, isn’t it? That I’m someone naïve, someone desperate and easy to manipulate to get into bed, right?”</p>
<p>Hoshi looks downright terrified.</p>
<p>“I’m not,” Gen says and thrives off the feeling of his voice not even wavering despite his heart trying to escape his chest, “And the next person you pick probably won’t be, either.”</p>
<p>“Right, um…,” Hoshi’s steps are uneven as he nears the other side of the sidewalk, “I will see you around then, Asagiri-san?”</p>
<p>Gen narrows his eyes, “Hopefully not.”</p>
<p>“Right.”</p>
<p>And he disappears like that, and when Gen can no longer sense his eyes on him, he slumps forwards. With trembling hands he makes a move to unlock his phone and deletes the emergency number from the speed dial.</p>
<p>“Right,” he repeats hollowly to himself as he starts walking in the opposite direction, “Right.”</p>
<p>He’s cold when he gets back home.</p>
<p>Colder when he slips under the covers.</p>
<p>And absolutely freezing when the dreams fill with Hoshi’s face.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a café Gen goes to.</p>
<p>It’s a small place near the place Gen rented out a year ago and doesn’t get much customers by the time he walks in anyways. The café owner, despite knowing him and his reputation as a mentalist, doesn’t call him out on the way he takes the seat in the corner and doesn’t initiate a small talk like so many other places he’s been to.</p>
<p>It’s always quiet there, too. The café owner – the lady in her late forties, probably – doesn’t announce his presence to others. She speaks slowly and calmly to him, with no hint of some hidden admiration, and treats him like a normal person instead of celebrity. It’s a nice change from the places Gen usually attends to – it’s not like he’s as famous as some kind of singer or a model, but people still talk and even if they’re not a fan, having a picture with someone known is like getting an autograph of someone world famous.</p>
<p>Usually he doesn’t mind it.</p>
<p>Usually.</p>
<p>He’s tired, though. Lately, that’s all he’s been. Exhausted shell of a person who does all they can to keep going, to keep up the façade that everything is fine. Maybe it’s just the pressure of the TV, maybe it’s Kasumi’s constant attention and new ideas, maybe it’s the investors and the need to look good, look presentable.</p>
<p>For God’s sake, Gen starts to even worry about looking decent at his own place. Where there’s no one to see, no one to judge and it’s just too much – the knowledge that the show business can wring everything out of you, even the small pleasure of slipping into pajamas and eating ice-cream.</p>
<p><em>‘You need to have a good figure</em>,’ the make-up artist behind the scenes would say when he eyes the candy on the table for too long, ‘<em>how else do you want to keep people like you</em>?’</p>
<p>Good looks and manners; outfits always tailored for you and fitting. Nowadays, Gen starts to forget what it’s like to be dirty and it only feels like he’s dirty on the <em>inside.</em> Getting money for tricking people into thinking magic is real does that to you, after some time, especially if you end up peaking at young age. That you’re just some fake. Just a trash in fancy clothes.</p>
<p>That’s all he’s been.</p>
<p>That’s all his mother thought he’d be and she never cared for appearance, either. Not after her man left her.</p>
<p>The café, though – Gen doesn’t need to keep the happy face on and he doesn’t need to charm his way through. There’s just him, old lady who keeps giving him cookies when he’s not looking, and the window and the view on the garden outside.</p>
<p>Sometimes, Gen does some studies there. Sometimes, he does some math just because numbers aren’t as confusing if you know the formula and he has to keep his brain working if he doesn’t want to go crazy. (He’s tried knitting and drawing; went as far as to get into scrapbooking but when he realized that his life is mostly shows or talking to plants outside, he decided to give it up. So numbers stayed, and any kind of hobby that reminded him that his life is dull and uninteresting went forgotten). His studies aren’t anything advanced, either. Just some basics he missed during the time his mother was supposed to home-school him.</p>
<p>There are times when he just sits there.</p>
<p>Days when he’s empty; when he wants to be everywhere and nowhere at all, when there’s fire in his chest and coldness on his bones, when the smile on his face feels like a grimace and the clothes feel like containment, a punishment. He sits in his corner then and sips on the tea he vaguely remembers ordering and stares out the window.</p>
<p>At the garden full of life.</p>
<p>At people in there.</p>
<p>And he wonders—</p>
<p>If he will ever get a little café like this, with its own lively garden full of flowers or if he’s just going to rot away, just like that; missing everything there is to miss.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s been ordered to take a break.</p>
<p>It’s not like he didn’t want one – it’s not like he hasn’t asked for one when he noticed himself slipping down and down the dark hole that his mind is, but it has taken his pale skin, dark bangs under his eyes and passing out on stage to actually get one and make Kasumi realize that he’s not, in fact, joking.</p>
<p>She looks terrified when he drops.</p>
<p>It’s not her fault, Gen knows. The media want what they want, the show business isn’t kind and if Gen can’t keep up then he shouldn’t get into it at all. If they want him thin – he needs to be thin. If they want him to smile and attend fancy parties – he needs to smile and attend them. There’s no in between, there’s no ‘what if’ and ‘I’m tried’ and that’s something he learned back when he was young.</p>
<p>The media don’t listen.</p>
<p>Not before he becomes so sickly he just makes a scene (ha, ha, funny pun there) by fainting in the middle of the show.</p>
<p>“You need to take care of yourself,” Kasumi says as she finally looks at him from up her phone, her feet stopping in front of him as he stares at the ground, “otherwise, you can’t go back, understand? I won’t let someone like you waste away doing magic tricks and dying to meet someone’s unreal expectations.”</p>
<p>“They want the best,” Gen whispers.</p>
<p>He feels awfully small and unwanted as she glares, “No. They want perfect and no one is.”</p>
<p>There is strength under Gen’s skin. The hardened shell of who Asagiri Gen the Mentalist should be and it’s buried alongside the heart that wanted, so badly, so desperately, for his mother to become Mama again. Now, it flickers out. Exhausted. The wind blowing on the fire, successfully blowing it out.</p>
<p>There’s nothing here now. Just Gen, Kasumi and the crowd outside, worried sick. Not yet, it feels like it’s nothing.</p>
<p>Because what can you do when the thing you do best suddenly isn’t any good?</p>
<p>When you try and try, and run yourself into the ground, and come up empty-handed?</p>
<p>There is no satisfaction out of doing shows anymore. The Gen on the cover of the book feels like a memory he doesn’t want to visit anymore. He doesn’t want that body anymore, it doesn’t feel his. And yet, he’s there, stuck.</p>
<p>He can’t move.</p>
<p>He wants to run.</p>
<p>“How long?”</p>
<p>Kasumi’s eyes soften, just the tiniest bit, “Until you’re better.”</p>
<p>
  <em>What if I don’t?</em>
</p>
<p>“I see,” he says and lifts his head high, because that’s what he taught himself, “I will make sure to get back to my top condition as soon as I can, and then—“</p>
<p>“No,” Kasumi’s hard voice cuts him off.</p>
<p>Gen’s voice dies on him but his smile is frozen still on his face.</p>
<p>“Pardon?”</p>
<p>“You will take as long as you can, for as long as you need to get better, Asagiri-san,” her hands shake a little when she pockets her phone and looks at him, <em>really</em> looks at him, trying to decipher what’s underneath all that make-up and cracked shell, “and if you lie about it and this happens again, I will fire myself.”</p>
<p>Gen’s heart stops, then starts beating. Really slow.</p>
<p>“You will leave, Kasumi-san?”</p>
<p>Like his mother.</p>
<p>Like his father.</p>
<p>“I refuse to help you hurt yourself,” Kasumi’s voice is strong and unwavering, like she’s so sure that’s what Gen’s been doing, like it hasn’t been all just to survive, to be, to be— “I saw kids younger than you spiral down into drugs, into bad crowd. Because that’s what makes the media crazy, and you know this,” she stabs a finger at him, “and yet you let them do that to you.”</p>
<p>“You said so yourself,” Gen replies, feeling weak but still managing to keep his tone sing-song like, “If the media want, the media get. It’s not a choice I get to make.”</p>
<p>“You’ve made an image for yourself, Asagiri-san. Mentalists aren’t as known as singers or actors, but they’re there. They matter to some and that’s the influence that can help you,” Kasumi picks up her purse and nudges him, “and you’re clever. The most brilliant young man I had the pleasure of working with, so you know you can do something with it. You can fight and be yourself.”</p>
<p>“The show business isn’t me being myself,” Gen finds himself saying as he wraps his jacket around himself, “It’s me making money. It’s me making profit. I don’t care about anything else.”</p>
<p>Kasumi’s eyes harden, but she doesn’t look angry.</p>
<p>She looks <em>sad.</em></p>
<p>“Yeah,” she makes him stand up and walk out of the door, “maybe that’s what you did wrong, Asagiri-san. Life is too short, you should do what pleases you.”</p>
<p>Gen remembers snorting at that.</p>
<p>Then he remembers that, when she drove him home and he curled up on the sofa in the almost empty room, he shut his eyes – her words repeating themselves and not making any sense.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It hasn’t been even a week since that incident; at most, it’s been maybe three days where Gen sleeps, eats and repeats the process. A routine so plain, so simple and yet so difficult to break out of.</p>
<p>He’s supposed to be getting better.</p>
<p>He doesn’t.</p>
<p>He feels like a bowstring and a bubble all the same. He feels like any wrong movement will break him further, will take his pieces and shatter them so much they won’t be able to be taped back together. Not even the strongest glue would be a remedy for a soul and body so beaten up it’s barely recognizable.</p>
<p>And so he smiles.</p>
<p>And so he goes on.</p>
<p>(And so he frowns, and so he cries inside, because somehow, tears don’t want to slide down his cheeks.</p>
<p>He’s too dry inside.</p>
<p>Like his mother.</p>
<p>He always knew it – that he will end up like her; like a wreck.)</p>
<p>The mornings are hard to get through, he thinks. There’s a light outside his window that Gen lets in when he gets up, but it’s like it’s passing through him. He wakes up, because he thinks he has a job to go to, but then he remembers himself and he can’t make himself do anything more than go to the bathroom – there’s no point, is there?</p>
<p>Gen keeps performing for himself. In the mirror so shiny it glows. He stares at it, notices the bruises under his eyes and sighs so loudly, so desperately to bring himself to care even the bare minimum. He can’t. He watches himself wither away like a flower.</p>
<p><em>Flowers over war</em>, someone once said to him.</p>
<p>Gen likes to use flowers in his performance. He likes them, because they’re alive, they’re pretty until they die, so young. He once bought a flower to put inside his bedroom, but it grew brown over a time. Figures that he couldn’t keep even a plant alive.</p>
<p>Once the routine sets in, though, it’s hard to break out of it. So he finds another routine, and another and when it doesn’t work, he makes up new ones.</p>
<p>The last one makes him go outside. There’s an announcement on the notice board, someone wanting a magician for a birthday party. Gen goes, he makes some tricks he learned on YouTube, then charms the young kids with card tricks and coin flips. When all is done and he is paid, he leaves, with the same hole in his heart, with the same emptiness and cold on his bones.</p>
<p>So he tries again.</p>
<p>And again.</p>
<p>Because he refuses to be his mother; he refuses to let himself end here. If he dies, he wants to die on his terms not because of some kind of—</p>
<p>Emptiness.</p>
<p>He just can’t tell if he’s living for himself or for the money he sends his mother, every month. He wishes he lived for himself; for the pleasure of doing what he loves; for the small things and the gardens he has yet to see. For new flowers to be discovered.</p>
<p>Then again.</p>
<p>Asagiri Gen is a vile thing. He manipulates and deceives. He is not, after all, someone worth of life full of pretty things.</p>
<p>All fails, sometimes, so Gen gets up one day and dresses up. A cap on his head and a dark hoodie to cover up how thin he is, how dangerously close he is to swaying with each step. He takes his phone, his card deck and he sets off to the café.</p>
<p>It’s a slow morning.</p>
<p>The sun is high, he realizes, and it burns his pale skin as he walks. The birds are not singing, though and if they are, Gen doesn’t hear. The way he steps on the sidewalk and the way he avoids walking into a pole by a small margin gives away the exhaustion crawling up his spine.</p>
<p>He opens the door to the café when he finally, finally steps in front of the banner and intends to go to his usual spot when he realizes, a step from taking a seat, that it’s already taken and there’s someone there, with notes all spread out on the table, sitting there.</p>
<p>Torn between wanting to tell someone off, <em>because how dare they</em>, Gen just pauses. He can’t very well do that, the place isn’t signed with his name, after all. He does take a while to move, as he looks at that person, and it appears to be enough because the lady behind the counter walks up to him with an apologetic smile.</p>
<p>“I’m sure you could find some other table to sit at, lad,” she says and Gen knows this, obviously, but for some reason he feels like breaking this peculiar part of his routine would result in him shutting down, so he gives her a defeated look, “or you could ask to join him. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”</p>
<p>It’s true that the person sitting there looks to be open and unbothered, even by the noise the other people make around, and focused solely on their work. They write a lot, too much even and the blank pages fill up surprisingly fast in a neat handwriting. There’s really no excuse for Gen to leave the place just because of this.</p>
<p>“I will ask,” he finds himself agreeing to her and watches for a moment as she walks away.</p>
<p>He realizes, slowly, that he never learned her name. He looks at the badge on her chest and blinks.</p>
<p>Ah.</p>
<p>Her name is Mei. Fitting name for someone whose café is practically a garden full of sprouts and buds. Her eyes, too, with their light colour bring life to the place.</p>
<p>He drags his gaze away from her and walks up to the table – one step, two steps, then more confidently as he makes himself straighten, his head held up high – and then stops, plastering a smile on his face and speaks, loud and clear how Kasumi showed him.</p>
<p>“Excuse me,” the person doesn’t even lift up their head but Gen notices the change in posture as they nod, slightly, “would it be okay for me to sit here? I promise to be quiet.”</p>
<p>“Other tables taken?”</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>Oh, the voice sounds actually nice. There’s no roughness in it.</p>
<p>“Indeed,” Gen tilts his head and shrugs, “it’s a cool place. I’d be surprised if the place got less customers.”</p>
<p>There’s a pause as they stop writing and then, they look up.</p>
<p>“You look like a person who constantly chatters about something.”</p>
<p>Gen’s smile doesn’t drop as he looks to the garden outside the window, “You are very correct. But, you see, this is my usual spot and I can sacrifice myself and keep my mouth shut if that means I can sit here.”</p>
<p>They looks at him, calculating. Then, there’s a sigh and the papers are moved slightly to the side.</p>
<p>“Be my guest.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he sing songs, pretends to not feel like his heart is being ripped apart by that small act of consideration by a stranger and takes a seat, shrugging off his jacket and taking out his phone. It’s been on silent the whole day, but there are no texts and no missed calls. Gen knows it’s because Kasumi is the only one Gen has any real contact with.</p>
<p>Mei comes around after a while with Gen’s tea and leaves, just like that. She doesn’t even stop to take the money he offers her, waving her hand.</p>
<p>It’s weird.</p>
<p>This kindness.</p>
<p>But he brushes it off, takes the cup and unconsciously leans against the seat, body turned to the window. Without realizing, he loses himself to the sight of the garden, to the flowers in bloom, and to the birds that dance on the grass. He sips his tea and observes.</p>
<p>The world doesn’t stop for him, ever.</p>
<p>But there’s this peace. This tranquil. For a moment, it looks like time slows down here.</p>
<p>The other person at the table doesn’t say a word, but Gen feels their eyes on him, the piercing red glowing in the light of the morning. There’s a long pause as they look at him, judging, before there’s a sound of pen clicking and the note-taking resumes.</p>
<p>Gen—</p>
<p>Gen lets it be.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The next day, he changes the routine.</p>
<p>He takes a long, warm shower and dresses in slightly less dark clothes – a maroon, to be exact – and leaves the cap at home. There’s slight hesitation on his side when he looks at the card deck, but he takes it, anyways. On his way to the café, he restrains himself and doesn’t make himself smile at every person he sees.</p>
<p>Then, he orders a tea and a breakfast sandwich from the menu. It’s only when Mei gives him a glance that he realizes the person from yesterday is in his spot again. He resists an urge to turn away and gives into the selfish and stubborn part of himself and refuses to get another seat this time, too.</p>
<p>“Back again?” He finds himself asking.</p>
<p>There aren’t pages spread out on the table this time. Only a notebook and couple of books with hard cover. Gen only catches the green letters and half a word – perhaps it was more of a “chemistry” type of book, than anything else – before they are shrugged aside to make place for his plate and cup of tea.</p>
<p>“I like the scenery, too,” is all they say.</p>
<p>Gen lets it be, but there’s a tiny change inside of him, a feather light weight lifting off.</p>
<p>He sits down.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Kasumi calls him in the evening.</p>
<p>“How are you doing, Asagiri-san?”</p>
<p>There are words on the tips of his tongue, a scalding truth that hurts him when he thinks of saying it, and then there’s the bitterness and the ash of the toast he made himself as a dinner. His hand twitch on the deck of his cards and he looks at the empty mug.</p>
<p>His face hurts as he smiles, “I’m fantastic, actually. The cashier at the supermarket complimented my skin care, you know?”</p>
<p>There’s a long pause.</p>
<p>Gen’s fingers tighten on his phone.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Kasumi’s voice rings out, too loud, and yet too quiet at the same time, “You’re not.”</p>
<p>“Mhm,” he hums, noncommittally.</p>
<p>They say their goodbyes.</p>
<p>Gen doesn’t finish his toast and goes to bed, tugging the covers up to his ears, hoping it will muffle the phantom noise of a bottle smashing into the wall and the call of his thoughts, begging to be let out.</p>
<p>It doesn’t.</p>
<p>(It never did).</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 2. give it up for a lent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A garden full of life makes you wonder if you're really alive or if you're just passing the time, pretending to be something you're not, pretending that you're not like the flowers slowly withering away.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title taken from Autoheart's, Lent.</p><p>man it is past midnight here and i just wanna curl up in the thickest blankets and sleep everything away. oh, how glorious it would be to become one with the bed?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He orders his tea and goes to sit in his spot. This time, he doesn’t hesitate and doesn’t ask. He feels like he doesn’t need to, not when a space is cleared for him the moment he goes over with his mug and a plate of some new salad on the menu.</p><p>He intends to stick to his routine.</p><p>But then, there’s this clear voice. And a sound of shuffling, papers being moved from one place to another.</p><p>“You’re the guy who writes shitty psychologist books, aren’t you?”</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Well.</p><p>That is—</p><p>“You’ve heard about me?” Gen abandons his tea and puts his elbow on the table, propping his head on his hand, “I’m touched. Calling them shitty hurts, though, you know?”</p><p>It doesn’t not really. He read through them two times and he knows that the editor got rid of most of his words and exchanged them for some medical jargon Gen never studied and never really cared for. He pretends, though, because that’s him and blending in and slipping into some kind of façade is like a second nature at this point.</p><p>“Asagiri Gen,” they look up and raise an eyebrow, “the rising star of the show business. It’s hard to <em>not</em> hear about you.”</p><p>There’s tightness in his smile as he replies, “Thank you.”</p><p>There’s a hum, then, “What’s a person of your caliber doing in a place like this?”</p><p><em>I’m just a mentalist,</em> he thinks, then, “You didn’t do your research?”</p><p>“I care very little what tricksters like you do in their spare time and didn’t read through your Wikipedia page, sorry,” there’s a scratch of pen on the paper and Gen wonders when the sound became so familiar he stopped registering it, “but my friends are curious.”</p><p>“So, you do care.”</p><p>“Don’t twist my words, Mr Mentalist.”</p><p>“Mhm,” Gen takes a sip of his tea and lets his eyes wander, from the pen they’re holding to the page, then back to the garden, “I don’t share my story with a nameless university students. A celebrity like me knows a stalker when they see one.”</p><p>“How did you know—?” they start before they follow Gen’s line of sight and their lips curl, “Ah. Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m no university student.”</p><p>Now, that’s—</p><p>He forces himself to not show any surprise on his face as he glances at the books again, “They’re advanced chemistry. They don’t teach that at any lower school.”</p><p>“Obviously,” they drawl out, “that’d be unfair for those inept at it.”</p><p>Gen frowns hard at the title of the book again, not understanding, before it dawns on him and he shoots a look at the person. There’s this smugness in their eyes that Gen isn’t used to and he finds himself asking, before he can stop and think better.</p><p>“Then, you’re self-taught?”</p><p>“You can call it that, yeah,” the papers are moved again and he watches, blinking, “I’m in my last year of high school. I read up material ahead of class.”</p><p>“That far ahead?”</p><p>“What, surprised not everyone spends their time in front of TV watching you?”</p><p>“No, that’s—“ Gen takes his mug and blows on it, “just very unusual, that’s all.”</p><p>There’s a hum, “Yeah. I get that a lot.”</p><p>Gen nods, then sips on his tea. It’s lukewarm now. He bites down grimace and looks to the garden, where the birds no longer linger in the grass and the flowers stare back, dead and yet not as dead as Gen feels on a daily basis.</p><p>To look pretty and yet feigning to be alive.</p><p>He could relate.</p><p>Back, when he could still pretend in his top condition that acting is all part of him and doesn’t need any effort.</p><p>“I can tell,” Gen says after a while. There’s no answer this time.</p><p>It’s only when he leaves again that he realizes.</p><p>He never did get their name.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Gen’s mother still lives in the same place.</p><p>The garden isn’t full of flowers anymore. There’s trash in front of the door, thrown basket of laundry on the porch and the grass isn’t mown. Gen knows it’s not possible, technically, but he still feels like he can smell the alcohol even before coming in.</p><p>Because he still has the key.</p><p>Because he still has this stupid hope in his heart; that’s she’d change, that’d she would make an effort to be better.</p><p>The living room is mostly empty, beside the couple of empty bottles and blankets on the floor. The table is mostly clear, but the inside of the kitchen is full of take-out boxes and trash bags. The dishes in the sink are washed but it’s clear that they’ve been sitting there for a long, long time, because the water is stained with dust.</p><p>He knows the house has always been cold, but somehow, the chill in his bones is so, so familiar that he doesn’t even notice a difference. He walks by the bare walls, and carefully opens the door to the bedroom.</p><p>She’s there on the bed and her head is a mess of dark straight hair. She appears to be sleeping, but when he gets closer, anxiously watching his feet, barefoot, he notices that her breathing isn’t calm at all, it’s ragged.</p><p>“Hi, Mama,” he whispers more to himself than to her and all he hears is her grunt of acknowledgement.</p><p>“Wh’t are doin’ h’re, brat?” her speech is slurred as he nears her and crouches in front of the bed, “Huh? Came laughin’ at me?”</p><p>“No,” he says, voice barely audible as he wills himself not to cry.</p><p>It’s been a year or so. Maybe longer. When he left home, her eyes still had some light in them, but there’s nothing of sorts here now. There’s just her, in an old, broken body, drinking herself unconscious.</p><p>Because of him, she’d use to say.</p><p>“I missed you,” he admits, pretending to be strong, pretending that the next thing he does won’t end up with him crying, “How are you—how are you doing, Mama?”</p><p>“F’nny,” she lets her eyes close, slumping on her pillows. As she breathes, Gen tries to not gag, “<em>Now</em> you miss me.”</p><p>He reaches out his hand and stills.</p><p>
  <em>‘Your father left because of you.’</em>
</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he whispers and gives her a pathetic smile, “I didn’t want to.”</p><p>“You did. You left, Gen-chan,” there’s a pull on his heart so strong that Gen almost recoils, “Left. Didn’t come back. Gen-chan,” she swats his hand away and then, giggles when he loses his balance. And then, the giggle turns into a sob and she’s crying, so loudly, so obnoxiously that Gen shuts his eyes. “Gen-chan, you <em>left.”</em></p><p>“Had to, Mama,” his throat is tight as he says that and he breathes, deeply. He wants to cry, “I send you money when you need it.”</p><p>She hiccups. The sound is like dragging nails down the blackboard.</p><p>“You left,” she says accusingly and tries to sit up, swaying as she does. Like she’s been asleep there for a long time, like she’s been laying there for hours, days and suddenly getting up is a struggle, “you left, you lied—you—you <em>liar!</em>” she stabs a finger at him, and there’s an angry frown on her face as she cries.</p><p>She’s not aware of anything and Gen knows that by the time she falls asleep again, she won’t remember he was ever there.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Mama,” he repeats, because he knows those words, has been saying them for years now and they burn each time all the same, because he’s not. He’s not sorry, at all. He wasn’t the one to blame.</p><p>He wishes he could believe that for real.</p><p>He wishes, more than once, that she’d take his hand and kiss it, instead of slapping it away.</p><p>“Liar,” she ends up saying, babbling now as she falls down onto the pillows, sniffing, “liar. You hate me. Don’t you, Gen-chan?”</p><p>“I love you, Mama.”</p><p>He wonders why the words don’t feel like a truth, nowadays.</p><p>He doesn’t have time to find the answer. When she falls asleep again, he leaves the house and he locks the door and then, vows himself to never go back again.</p><p>(He knows he will, anyways).</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He changes his routine again.</p><p>He goes to the café as soon as he wakes up. He does what he needs to do in the bathroom, but doesn’t touch the  hair brush and doesn’t even wait for the sun to be fully up. When he finally arrives it’s hour or so earlier than usual and his spot is empty.</p><p>He doesn’t order his tea. Or breakfast.</p><p>He doesn’t have the strength today.</p><p>Today – the garden outside is alive and Gen envies it. There’s the exhaustion clinging to his clothes, to his skin. He knows that if he were any more inside he’d be trying to scratch that feeling off, he’d make the itching go away and watch the blood slide down. But Gen isn’t as stupid as to damage his body, when it’s the thing that got him into the show business.</p><p>So he watches the garden.</p><p>And doesn’t eat.</p><p>And looks – that’s all he feels he can do without feeling overwhelmed. Resting his head on his arms, eyes not quite closed but almost there. The deck of cards is weighing on him as he feels himself slip away again.</p><p>An hour passes like this, he realizes, because then, there’s a sound of books being put on the table and the familiar smell of lemon. He barely casts them a glance.</p><p>“Forgot your tea,” is all they say as they sit down and nudge the mug in Gen’s direction.</p><p>He drags his eyes away from them, to the mug, then to the garden and back at the mug.</p><p>He doesn’t want to think.</p><p>“What’s your name?” he asks, anyways.</p><p>“We meet up like this for few days now and you only thought to ask this now?” There’s a snort and the noise of a notebook being opened. Gen shuts his eyes and thinks, <em>whatever</em>. He doesn’t need to know, “Well, I guess that’s only fair. I already know yours.”</p><p>“Mhm. You do,” <em>most of the people around in this country do.</em></p><p>“Ishigami Senkuu.”</p><p>Gen hums, “That’s a nice one.”</p><p>“Obviously. Do you usually engage in conversations with strangers you meet at the cafés?”</p><p>“Only the ones who look like they’ve had their teenage rebellion phase a little too early,” Gen shoots back and looks at the green colored tips of Senkuu’s hair that stand tall and then, to the opened notebooks, “How is your advanced chemistry going?”</p><p>Senkuu tips the book so Gen can see the title. This time, in bold blue letters, there’s a ‘ADVANCED PHYSICS’ and a picture of— Actually, Gen doesn’t know what <em>this</em> is supposed to be. He supposes it’s something he’d learn if he was ever given a chance to study at the same pace as the others, with a  teacher behind him and not by himself.</p><p>“Ah,” Gen says, trying to appear understanding.</p><p>“That’s a parabola-shaped lava flow,” Senkuu explains, even as Gen’s face closes off to look like he hasn’t just been caught not knowing something, “And it illustrates the application of mathematics in physics—in this case, Galileo's law of falling bodies.”</p><p>“Sounds…” Gen finally lifts his head from his arms, and the act itself sends shivers down his spine, as if he was just waking up from sleep, “…cool.”</p><p>“…you have no idea what that is, do you.”</p><p>Gen glances at the mug. He still doesn’t feel thirsty or hungry, although he knows he should, but the scent of lemon is tempting. His stomach is still twisting, even though Gen physically knows it’s just the anxiety he ignored for so long – it tries to come out, crawling if it has to. It’s been a long time since he noticed the tightness in his stomach, the nerves like clenching of a muscle.</p><p>There’s no danger, he knows.</p><p>But there’s a monster lurking somewhere there. A shadow behind him, grinning. It has its claws in Gen’s body already, and it will soon claim his mind again.</p><p>“If it’s high school knowledge, then I probably wouldn’t,” then realizing how that sounds, he backtracks a bit hastily, “as you said, a person of my caliber wouldn’t spend time learning about, um. Parabola-shaped lava flow.”</p><p>“Right,” the answers is weirdly drawled out, as if Senku didn’t believe that.</p><p>Gen picks on his skin, absent-mindedly, “Is it fun?”</p><p>“Physics?”</p><p>Gen gives him a considering look. Senkuu is usually dressed very casually, or there’s a lab coat somewhere beside him. His books are always in some field Gen isn’t very knowledgeable in. There’s this certain smell around him that reminds Gen of an old chemist in the drug store.</p><p>“Science.”</p><p>Senkuu blinks, “That’s a weird question. I wouldn’t be reading everything there is on it if I thought it were boring, would I?”</p><p>Gen, who is staring out the window, catching a bird on the grass, startles at that blunt answer.</p><p>That’s—</p><p>Hm.</p><p><em>Yeah, Gen,</em> he thinks to himself, <em>why would he be doing it if that were the case?</em></p><p>There’s this thing about people – they want the knowledge. They want until there’s nothing to have anymore and between their own greediness and selfishness, there’s also this razor sharp percent of those who seek and want to gain, just because – just because it enriches them, because knowing is fun.</p><p>Gen thought that magic is amazing. He saw one mentalist on TV and read one book about misdirection and the theories about manipulation techniques and he thought it was cool – up until he go so much into it that it stopped being—</p><p>It stopped being entertaining.</p><p>Because if you dedicate your life to pleasing others you eventually forget about what makes you happy, isn’t that right? Because you get so much into something and create yourself from ashes, from ground up, that you forget what it was like to break down and not get up and when it happens again, you just—</p><p>You just stop and wonder what’s the point.</p><p>“I guess you’re right,” Gen muses, voice choked up, “that’s right. It wouldn’t make sense.”</p><p>The book is lifted and opened. Senkuu glances at him, “Are you having some existential crisis right now?”</p><p>“Ah, Senkuu-chan,” it slips out as a habit as Gen finally takes a mug and sips on the lemon tea, smile tired and resigned, but nonetheless wide, “you should know better.”</p><p>He gets a questioning look and looks away at the garden again.</p><p>The bird is gone.</p><p>“Mentalists don’t get to have those, you know,” Gen says and it feels like a truth; maybe that’s why it hurts, “We leave that stuff to you science people and hope you find the answer for us.”</p><p>“I think you’re mistaking one science for another,” is a skeptic reply.</p><p>“Am I?”</p><p>Senkuu doesn’t answer.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Gen picks himself over and over again and rearranges himself into something that can be liked; that can be admired and cherished. No one wants to hear about the sad, depressing topics anymore – people crave positivity.</p><p>Or constant attention.</p><p>Or constant affection.</p><p>For some reason, Gen as he builds himself over and over again always leaves this space in his chest, this emptiness that won’t go away no matter how many versions of himself Gen goes through.</p><p>Kasumi calls him to tell him she’s still waiting for any progress.</p><p>Gen tells her he’s getting his feet back on the ground, that he’s trying.</p><p>She tells him to stop lying.</p><p>So, he shatters himself again. He makes his bed in the morning and listens to Disney soundtrack on repeat. He wakes up and eats a toast and goes to the café. And he sets into routine so simple and so mundane that it makes his skin crawl with invisible bugs.</p><p>He wants to act.</p><p>He also doesn’t want to act ever again.</p><p>There’s a paradox somewhere there that Gen likes to pick apart again and again to find out why exactly he feels this way. Sometimes, he feels a flash of his mother’s bloodshot eyes and there’s a piercing sound of glass hitting the wall. Sometimes, it’s the scene where Gen plays with his hands, with his cards, with people’s minds and their hearts.</p><p>And sometimes, it’s a bird too afraid to know what’s outside the cage.</p><p>Gen knows he has to get rid of the cage, but he finds that he can’t understand when the cage appeared and who put him there in the first place. He thinks it was his mother, but tosses the thought away. The cage is too complicated for her drunken state – it was probably a cage he build for himself, the result of finding new ways of building walls and keeping them up for far too long.</p><p>He put a lock there, and hid the key away.</p><p>Mei in the café knows who Asagiri Gen is – she’s made that clear. Yet, she keeps herself from commenting and she doesn’t ask – she doesn’t do anything anyone else would do and for that he is grateful. But there’s also this understanding in her eyes, in her old lines on her forehead – the one that tells Gen that this bone-crushing, soul-wrenching exhaustion isn’t made up, it’s all <em>there.</em></p><p>Her garden blooms weeds, too. Gen thinks, when he watches the outside world, what it would be like to grow a garden on his own. He thinks, maybe, that he would let weeds grow there, too, alongside with the beautiful flowers.</p><p>If he tossed the weeds away, he’d toss away dandelions away, too, wouldn’t he? And there’s this prettiness in them that he wonders if that would be the right choice. Maybe he shouldn’t think about garden metaphors so much.</p><p>Mei keeps anyone from commenting, too. No one ever recognizes him, but sometimes, just sometimes there’s this glance at him, a whisper as he passes by and he knows, logically, that there’s at least someone who knows his face.</p><p>But Mei doesn’t let them come near.</p><p>She glares, but offers a smile. She speaks loudly, and keeps the attention on herself for so long and so effectively that Gen goes to his usual spot without trouble. It’s the small act of kindness like this that makes his heart ache and his bones warm.</p><p>Like something is blooming in his chest.</p><p>When he picks himself apart and puts himself back again, he visits the café again. Senkuu is there already, but he’s not by the table. He’s standing on the side, with some older and taller man and there’s a woman with blond hair and a cap on that speaks to them lowly.</p><p>It’s then that he realizes Mei isn’t by the counter, either. There’s a girl, not much older than Gen himself, that whirls around at the sound of the bells announcing that someone entered the local and locks her eyes on him. It’s this moment when he notices her eyes widen in recognition he fought so hard to avoid.</p><p>But he taped himself back together with the strongest glue he found and he knows he can’t afford a slip up, he can’t afford to act arrogant or ignorant, so he comes up to the counter anyways and he plasters a smile so fake and so painful he wonders if she sees through it.</p><p>She doesn’t.</p><p>She does, however, lean forwards, “Asagiri-sensei, it’s an honor to meet you!”</p><p>Ah.</p><p>Ah, not good at all.</p><p>Kasumi must have been right – he is not fine, after all, not if he wants to flinch and curl away at the sound of a voice so high pitched. If he were back in his top condition, he’d flirt his way out of this one and he’s actually be glad, happy that someone knows his name and says it with respect and not venom.</p><p>The call of his name gathers attention of others. There are needles digging into his back as he straightens out, “A fan, I presume? That’s very lovely—“</p><p>“I watched all of your shows!” she buts in and her hands tap a rhythm so anxiously excited that Gen feels himself sweat, “And I admire you a lot, Asagiri-sensei.”</p><p>“Thank you for your support,” he says a rehearsed phrase and wishes he had the ability to disappear.</p><p>“Are you on vacation?” she asks, jumping a bit in her place, “Is this why you’re here? They never released an official statement why you disappeared. Is it because you passed out on the stage that time? Is it?” She suddenly gasps and puts a hand on her lips, “I’m sorry, that’s a bit rude of me, but are you, like, okay?”</p><p>“Excuse me,” he manages to get out without sounding like someone gutted him, and breathes out, “I couldn’t help but notice how splendid your hair looks. Would you mind sharing what kind of shampoo you use?”</p><p>“My hair—“ she looks confused for a moment, before she blushes, “Oh, yes! Yes, actually it’s—“</p><p>“Manami!” There’s a call from the kitchen and Mei appears in the threshold, just as Gen feels mildly faint when he sees someone beside them whisper and talk and— “What are you doing?”</p><p>“I just—“ the girl falters, and Gen feels a bit bad for it, before he realizes that he doesn’t actually have to feel bad and clenches a hand on his hoodie, “I was just—“</p><p>“Not doing your job, apparently,” is Mei’s angry answer, before she shifts her eyes to look at him, and he—</p><p>He doesn’t take it well. He smiles, pathetically so, and turns around on his heel to head to his usual spot – alone, this time – and he holds his head up high, his shoulders fighting to not hunch and when he sits, he doesn’t duck his head.</p><p>Instead, he brings out his phone and brings out a random app to scroll through. There’s no reason for him to get scared – he’s used to fame, to some extend – but his heart takes a while to calm down and when it does, there’s another weight on his shoulders.</p><p>There are news headlines on his dashboard.</p><p>He hesitantly types his name into the search bar, but when the first result describes his incident, he turns his phone off and breathes out, a bit unsteady. He doesn’t want to know what others think, what others presume. He knows just enough to understand that the media will always talk shit.</p><p>A bit later, when the whispers quiet and soft music filters through, a cup of tea is placed in front of him. Mei is leaning forwards a bit, just close enough to whisper a, “It’s on the house,” when Gen makes a grab for his wallet. She comes back to put a plate with a sandwich a bit after that, too.</p><p>Gen stares at it, like it’s some weird creature suddenly appearing in front of him, before he slumps on his seat. There’s a strange longing for Senkuu, then, because the absence of him by the table feels a bit off now, but after a minute, Gen takes the mug.</p><p>It feels wrong to want an almost stranger to sit with you.</p><p>The birds outside are singing again.</p><p><em>Perhaps it’s the loneliness finally catching up with me,</em> he muses as he takes a sip, leaning to take a better look outside, <em>a human is a social creature after all.</em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Some days are worse than others. Today, Gen goes outside despite that and regrets it almost immediately when the sun hits his eyes and it positively burns as he walks. He’s not wearing a dark hoodie, but a grey sweater and a cap. His hands are in the pockets of his jeans before he walks into the café and pulls them out to appear more open.</p><p>Mei greets him with a tired smile and this time, Gen speaks up and watches as her eyes widen a little in surprise, “Could I have some of the cheesecake and a lemon tea?” and he leans a bit forwards, putting on a smile he practiced in front of the mirror, “Please.”</p><p>There isn’t even a hesitation as she takes the money and she’s so stunned that she doesn’t notice that he’s given her more than he’s owned. He’s glad – she paid for him a lot of times, after all –because he doesn’t like being in debt to somebody.</p><p>“You look happier today, Asagiri-san,” Mei comments as she steps away to retrieve a piece for him.</p><p><em>Good,</em> Gen thinks, <em>that means it’s working.</em></p><p>It means that he has successfully made himself look presentable despite being dead on his feet; despite the longing, the emptiness, and the overwhelming, crushing fear that haunts him when he sleeps and the exhaustion that slowly drags him away and away from the sun.</p><p>It means that maybe, maybe Kasumi will allow him to go back to his work soon.</p><p>Hopefully.</p><p>(He wonders why that doesn’t make him happy.)</p><p>“It’s a wonderful morning,” Gen answers as she puts the cheesecake on the plate, “I’m graced to be able to spend some time in this lovely establishment.”</p><p>“You talk like an old man, Asagiri-san.”</p><p>“Ah, my apologies. Force of habit,” he glances at her hand when she pours the water into the cup and blinks at the wedding ring, before slapping a smile back onto his face when she looks back to him, “A man has to learn how to charm sponsors when he’s in a business like mine.”</p><p>There’s a pause as she hands him a plate and her hand doesn’t touch his, but she holds it there for a second longer than usual and Gen’s smile twitches, as if ready to drop, “A very, very young man.”</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Oh, right, that’s—</p><p>Nineteen. He’s only nineteen, isn’t that right? With a job, with his own apartment, paying his own bills but still—</p><p>He was just a kid, not so long ago.</p><p>There’s a tap on his hand that uselessly grips at the plate and he looks up, startled, only to realize that he’s dropped his smile. He hurries to exchange some other pleasantries and cover up for his lack of smile, but Mei already turns around and the only choice he has is to take the plate and walk to his usual spot.</p><p>That’s what he does. Even if the conversation leaves him with a weird feeling in his chest.</p><p>He’s stopped short when he notices someone new at his table (when did he even start calling it his own?) accompanied by someone—</p><p>Hm.</p><p>Clearly unwanted.</p><p>A young woman with blonde hair tucked into a hat similar to his sits on the left, hand playing with the bracelets on her hand and awkwardly speaking in hushed tones, her legs crossed and clearly edging away from the other person’s ankles. The man on the right is leaned forwards, leather jacket black and hair slicked back. His own legs are trying to hike up hers.</p><p>He is painfully reminded of Hoshi.</p><p>He’s also painfully aware that the woman can’t really make a scene, hiding her face.</p><p>He makes a decision in his mind after he moves, lips forming a small, polite smile as he takes a chair, loudly announcing his arrival when he places it in the middle of the table. His piece of cake rests on the table, right between the woman and the man, and his tea is steaming right beside it. Gen sends the smile to the man, “Hello.”</p><p>There’s a long, confused pause, “Hello.”</p><p>“You look like a cool guy, you know?” As he speaks, Gen starts to eat. The woman blinks at him, but leans back to watch, “Are you? Because I really, really need help with something.”</p><p>“I’m—“ The man sits a bit more straight as Gen looks between his eyebrows, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you?”</p><p>“Mhm,” Gen nods, “So, I was thinking. Does black suit me more or white?”</p><p>More confusion. As he waits, Gen sips at his tea.</p><p>Finally, “Black?”</p><p>“Thought so. Although, you look more like a white kind of guy. Innocent, pure and very, very understanding. Are you?”</p><p>“I—I guess. Look, do you have a point?”</p><p>“You look very nice, that’s all,” Gen says and then takes a bite of the cheesecake, “Nice and understanding. I hope you know that.”</p><p>“…right.”</p><p>“And you see, the lovely lady right here is my friend,” there’s a moment of confusion, yet again, before some kind of fear crawls into the man’s eyes as he looks back at the woman, “and I’ve been planning to meet with her for a while now. So I trust you’d understand that I want to catch up with her?”</p><p>“Ah, that is—I’m sorry, I misunderstood.”</p><p>Gen takes another sip of his tea, “Is that so? We can talk more. I’m actually hoping we do, you know? What’s your opinion on interracial sex, by the way? The discussion has been all over the internet lately and I’m very—“</p><p>The man stands up so fast the table shakes. He’s a bit red on the face and he franticly searches for his phone, “I’m sorry, I just remembered that I have a meeting and—“</p><p>“Understandable,” Gen nods, “Have a nice day.”</p><p>The man leaves, almost dropping his phone on his way and bumping into Mei as she walks by. Gen takes another bite of his cheesecake as he watches, then drops the pleasant smile and stands up to walk away as well.</p><p>The woman clicks her tongue, “Now. No need to leave.”</p><p>“I was under impression you didn’t want company, Miss.”</p><p>She looks up at him then, and Gen freezes seeing the familiar teal eyes. There’s a second of hesitation as she motions him to take a seat while she takes the extra chair and returns it to the other table. She sits back down, throws her hair back on her back when it starts bothering her and glances at him.</p><p>“I owe you for saving me trouble and getting rid of that guy,” she explains and Gen hums in reply, before busying himself with a cheesecake, “Nice skills, by the way. Confusing him, then making him uncomfortable?”</p><p>“People don’t like taboo topics at the table,” Gen finds himself saying, despite his brain screaming at him to stop talking to strangers at cafes, “and they like being in control. If you take the control away and confuse them, they’re more likely to, hm. Drop the façade. If you make things awkward, they’re more likely to leave you alone, too.”</p><p>He pauses when he doesn’t hear any response. He lifts his gaze only to find the woman with her lips forming a little ‘o’ and the look on her face tells him that she’s mentally taking notes of that.</p><p>“I can’t believe I never thought of that,” her accent, now that Gen notices, is thick. A bit of American, maybe, “I usually rely on my good looks and a good bodyguard beside me, but I thought it would be a good idea to get them nice vacation now that I’m on a break.”</p><p>
  <em>Uh…</em>
</p><p>Gen sips on his tea, narrowing his eyes.</p><p>Blonde hair, accent. Teal eyes, and the cap on her head. A break and a mention of a bodyguard.</p><p>“Do you usually chat with strangers who save you from unwanted adorations?” Gen asks when she trails off and digs into her own strawberry cake on a plate.</p><p>“Only the ones I recognize.”</p><p>Gen places the mug back onto the table. The woman’s smile is razor sharp now and her eyes, while still appearing kind and gentle, have taken a firm glint to them. She’s not playing with her bracelets anymore, either.</p><p>Ah. Right.</p><p>“Lillian Weinberg,” Gen drawls out quietly and watches as her lips twitch even more upwards, “Visiting Japan?”</p><p>“Asagiri Gen,” Lillian parrots, “Settling down at such young age?”</p><p>“What a coincidence that we meet here,” and he taps his fingers onto the table, “in my usual spot. So suddenly.”</p><p>“Indeed,” her grin loses its mean edge, “I heard from a little bird that there’s a mentalist in a café, appreciating gardens while the whole world wonders why you suddenly dropped face off the Earth. I became curious.”</p><p>That’s right. Isn’t she the one from that day, the one that came with Senkuu and the other man? He vaguely remembers the details that he sees on her cap now, but it’s a popular brand. Then again, it’s a bit suspicious that she would sit here. In this place, out of all empty tables.</p><p>That and—</p><p>“We had a show scheduled together,” Gen recalls briefly, “but it got cancelled.”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>“So, you heard about it and what? Decided to track me down?”</p><p>“It really is a coincidence that I found you here,” she reassures, “and it just came up. I am on a break, actually. With a friend. I’m sure you’ve meet his son, already.”</p><p>Craft yourself into a new person and don’t let them see, is what he ends up telling himself every morning. Don’t let them see and come, push forwards. He’s dealt with people like her – the noisy, important people wanting to know, their curiosity never satisfied.</p><p>Worse than media.</p><p>“Ishigami Senku,” Gen drops the name.</p><p>Lillian smiles, genuine this time, “Yes. He’s told us about a mysterious person in the café and I just connected the dots. I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”</p><p>“Hardly anything can, Weinberg-san—“</p><p>“Just Lillian, please.”</p><p>“—and as long as it stays a secret, we can live our lives peacefully. I wouldn’t want paparazzi coming here and destroying the café’s reputation.”</p><p>“I agree,” Gen is nodding already, something heavy dropping onto his shoulders and latching itself onto them, “on one condition.”</p><p>“Blackmailing is a crime.”</p><p>“Not a blackmail,” she looks a bit insulted at that, before she shakes her head and says, “A friend of mine is throwing a birthday party and their daughter likes magic—“</p><p>“I’m a <em>mentalist—</em>“</p><p>“—and of course, it will be paid all in advance, so I thought of asking you for a favor. It would really make her birthday special.”</p><p>“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” he asks, resigned, “Me asking for a favor, since I’ve saved you from suffering at the hands of the local womanizer?” Lillian pouts and it looks, well, a bit weird on a grown woman, “Nonetheless, if that’s all—“</p><p>“Please,” Lillian leans forwards and Gen feels the wave before it comes, the exhaustion and yet longing, as the deck of cards weighs a ton in his pocket, “Just one birthday party, what could go wrong?”</p><p><em>Everything</em>, he wants to say.</p><p>But there really isn’t a good excuse for him to refuse. He’s caging himself in his own apartment, then café, after all. He doesn’t have anything meaningful to do until Kasumi clears him for coming back to his work.</p><p>“One,” he agrees and watches as she beams at him, triumphant, “and I leave as soon as it ends.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He doesn’t like what he sees in the mirror.</p><p>Gen knows it isn’t because he’s ugly or deformed or—or whatever, really. He doesn’t have a reason to feel dirty and ugly and bad, but he is – when he looks into the mirror, when he sees himself on videos on Youtube – and it’s the kind of feeling that Gen, as a successfully mentalist, knows will come and go.</p><p>It is because he knows that isn’t him, right there in the mirror.</p><p>There is an image of a boy too young to know how to cook for himself so he goes hungry to bed, because his mom is too drunk to get up and make something; there is an image of a kid at school laughing off the bruise on his cheek and talking to classmates as if they were all his friends; there is an image of a person so old in a body so young who lives in a world corrupted by adult’s greediness and world’s ignorance.</p><p>There isn’t a place for him – <em>him </em>– in a Asagiri Gen he crafted to be and to survive.</p><p>So, he deals.</p><p>And he goes along with whatever gives him the most profit, whatever makes sure he gets to have money and buy food. There were lots and lots of people, managers that Gen went through and they were awful, awful people. They took and never gave; the kind that made you fish for praise, who made you exhausted.</p><p>He thinks that they may be part of the reason why he feels so burn-out.</p><p>Now, the thing is:</p><p>He doesn’t get to hesitate and wonder. That’s how it’s always been. Asagiri Gen doesn’t get breaks and vacation and sick days, because they make him restless and <em>thoughtful</em>—</p><p>And yet.</p><p>
  <em>Yet—!</em>
</p><p>He finds himself at the doorstep of the address Lillian Weinberg sent him, all dressed up casual because and he quotes: “It is a birthday party, not a show or a funeral!” as Lillian commented and he only has his long scarf around his neck. The deck of cards is in the pocket of his pants and—well, that is all he really needs. He’s told Lillian that he’s a mentalist and most of his tricks depend on observation and how well he can read people. It will, certainly, not be his fault if the lucky kid doesn’t get entertained.</p><p>He knocks. Once, twice. Waits a whole minute before there is a shout, a sound of something knocked over and then the door swings open almost hitting him in the face. A moment of confusion, before there is a wide grin and—</p><p>“Asagiri Gen!”</p><p>“Indeed,” Gen answers, even when he’s all but dragged inside the house that makes his skin crawl and his ears itch from the loud noise all around them, “and you are?”</p><p>“Taiju!” and that’s all he gets. Gen resigned himself to his fate this morning when he just sensed in his bones that today will not be easy, so he just allows himself be led to the living room where most of the decorations are already hanged and a huge banner with ‘Happy birthday Suika!’ obstructs the view of some old paintings above the window.</p><p>It feels strangely welcoming. Gen knows it’s probably because the rooms are painted in warm colors, there are pictures and laughter echoing in the halls.</p><p>(He immediately shuts down the part of his brain where he mourns of never experiencing it as a child.)</p><p>“Well, well, well,” there’s a voice from his left as Gen stops in the middle of the living room and briefly shoots a look at Lillian, “isn’t that a lot better than your usual black and white?”</p><p>“I can’t let a birthday girl suffer through my fashion sense, can I?” he asks as he glances back at the room, taking in the placement of all furniture squashed in the corner of the room, making an almost ballroom big space for having fun, probably and the way the balloons above the corner are pathetically dropping down, “Anything I need to know?”</p><p>“Only that Suika adores everything.”</p><p>Gen gives her a look, blinking as Taiju thrusts a party hat at him.</p><p>“I see,” he murmurs, snapping the hat in place and doing a twirl, pretending it doesn’t feel like he’s making his body move through marathon pains, “how do I look?”</p><p>“Positively charming,” Lillian says and there’s a glint in her eyes, like she knows and the softness there, the one he hasn’t noticed before, it flashes at him brightly, “I’m sure the others will think the same.”</p><p>“Others?”</p><p>“Suika and her friends,” Lillian glances outside at some particularly loud noise – Gen takes note that the house also has a big garden – before looking back at him, “and Byakuya, Senkuu’s father, and some of Senkuu’s classmates, I think.”</p><p>There’s a queasiness in Gen’s stomach at that. He starts to play with the edges of his scarf, smile on his face feeling just a tad too forced for his liking – he knows it’s not nerves, not at all. Perhaps it’s just the lone thought of being in unfamiliar territory with people he doesn’t know that well. Maybe it’s just Lillian Weinberg throwing him off. Maybe it’s just this – this welcoming warmth radiating from every inch of this house – that makes it all so hard to accept and work with.</p><p>Asagiri Gen is good for working under pressure, hiding away and fighting against the unjust system of show business. There’s rarely sincerity in his life.</p><p>“Lovely,” he says.</p><p>Lillian just looks at him, before saying something about introducing him to the others and finally meeting Suika, nudging him through the door to the garden. All while keeping one, very delicate hand on his shoulder, smiling widely. Gen envies her for that ease, that confidence that feels so genuine, while here he is, pathetically struggling with himself.</p><p>The garden isn’t decorated, except for the few tables full of food and with tied balloons to their feet. The month isn’t cold so most of the guests are dressed in loose, almost summer clothes. Gen feels oddly naked without his usual attire.</p><p>And the guests are, not surprisingly: Ishigami Senkuu, who even now didn’t abandon his lab coat –<em>seriously, why is he even wearing a coat? Is that a thing with young people obsessed with science?</em> Gen doesn’t even know him that good and yet he can just see the passion burning in those red eyes – and his father, Byakuya; beside them there’s Chrome and Kohaku, apparently from the same school as Senkuu, and Yuzuriha, a crush of the big guy Taiju. He noticed that on the side, where there is a  table reserved for adults of the party, there’s an older man he vaguely remembers being introduced as Kaseki, adoptive father of Suika.</p><p>And finally, Suika herself, along with couple of kids from her school. They are forming a circle around him as he sits himself on the grass, despite Lillian’s insistence of taking a chair.</p><p>“Magic!” is the first thing he hears, when they finally settle down, “we want to see magic!”</p><p>Inwardly, Gen sighs.</p><p>Outside, he smiles and lifts his hand, “Magic tricks, huh? Let’s do it, then.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The kids are delighted to see old coin and card tricks and they’re even happier when Gen starts teaching them how to make flower crowns without them falling apart. He even managed to get them to listen to one of his advices on how to make someone leave you alone – he even threw in the tips on how to avoid the dangerous types, because if he’s going to tell kids what they should do he’s going to make sure they’re safe.</p><p>(And maybe he’s, just a little bit, bitter that his mother never did the same for him; that the only tips he heard from her were how to buy alcohol when you’re underage, how to avoid paying for the electricity, how to get shit drunk. That the only advice he heard from her were of avoiding men like his father and how to drink and not make yourself too drunk too fast.</p><p>That the knowledge he should have gotten from her limited itself to ‘<em>don’t trust anyone, because they will shit you over and leave you wanting’</em>.)</p><p>After the main attraction – that turned out to be Gen’s own show – Suika hugged him, but she did so using so much force that Gen froze like deer in headlights, taken aback by the open affection. Then, she made him crouch so she could crown him with flowers, her eyes sparkling, and she said, “Thank you, Gen!”</p><p>She thanked him.</p><p><em>Him</em>.</p><p>He shouldn’t be so surprised back then, but the shock is still there when he gathers his things and tries to quietly leave the house, to not see the happiness where he cannot be included as more than an entertainment, where he cannot see what he could never have, so he cannot look at their happy faces and wish, so much, that he were able to—to—</p><p>He grimaces to himself, shaking his head and staring into the mirror that hangs in the hall where his shoes are.</p><p><em>Pathetic</em>, he thinks, <em>to want so much.</em></p><p>He’s learned to be satisfied with bare minimum; to never  want more than he’s given. He’s learned that if he wants something he has to fight for it, tooth and nail, and almost always it’s not worth it.</p><p>Is it, though?</p><p>Is it not worth it?</p><p>He sighs, irritated. He bends to slip on his shoes when suddenly, there’s the familiar voice and a person leaning against the wall, with the familiar white lab coat obstructing Gen’s view of the only exit.</p><p>He stills.</p><p>“Leaving so soon?”</p><p>“I was only paid to make a show,” Gen says, and it’s the truth, so why does he feel like he’s once again lying through his teeth? “And despite how I look, I’m not a freeloader.”</p><p>“Could have fooled me,” Senkuu comments drily and Gen huffs a laugh, still bend and yet not being able to move. Then, Senkuu tilts his head, with this assessing look of his that Gen has grown to despise because of how vulnerable it makes him feel, “No one told you to leave, though.”</p><p>Gen’s hand twitches from where it’s reaching towards the shoe, “I’m not dense. I know where I’m not—“</p><p>“Wanted?” Senkuu challenges and something gets stuck in Gen’s throat as he tries to speak around it.</p><p>“…exactly required.” He finishes up, quite lamely if he must admit and finally, finally he straightens out to at least appear like he’s in control of the situation, “Birthdays are to be celebrated with family. Dear Suika will appreciate having you all around herself.”</p><p>“But not you,” is more of a statement than a question.</p><p>“Yes. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m just a stranger passing by, only paid to perform and nothing less, nothing more,” Gen’s eyes narrow when Senkuu doesn’t look even a little bit resigned or accepting of this, “I doubt she’d want someone like this when she blows her candles.”</p><p>“Sure,” is Senkuu’s answer as his eyes flip to something that’s behind Gen, “That’s what <em>you</em> think, Mentalist.”</p><p>It feels like an insult, and Gen wants to figure him out, to know why he acts like he knows people better, like he knows Gen better – but then, there’s an excited shout, a sound of feet running down the hall and suddenly, someone latching themselves on his feet.</p><p>“Gen, Gen! Come, we’re going to eat cake now!” Suika nudges him, but when Gen – shell-shocked and little not comprehending – doesn’t react, she looks up to him and seems to make up her mind, because she takes his hand, firmly and tugs forwards to where all the light comes from and where there’s laughter, “You have to come, or else we won’t get to eat it,” she insists.</p><p>Senkuu pushes himself off the wall, his hands in the pockets of his lab coat and leans to whisper to him, “I’d better get going if you don’t want Lillian on your ass.”</p><p>“But—“ Suika glares at him. Gen feels oddly intimidated, “Um.”</p><p>“Come <em>on!”</em></p><p>“I’m not—“ Gen swallows around that lump in his throat, feeling exposed and suddenly really not wanting to walk where everyone is, not when he knows he’s the mismatched puzzle and he will just have to pretend and pretend for hours to no end, “Suika-chan, dear, flower of mine, you really don’t want me there.”</p><p>Senkuu raises an eyebrow.</p><p>Suika frowns, “And why not?”</p><p>“Because I ruin all the fun, trust me,” Gen answers as sincerely as he can make himself sound, “talking boring stuff, with my boring tricks and, well. Suika dear, you really don’t want to hear me talking about the latest fashion trends. I <em>ramble.</em>”</p><p>“So?” Gen staggers as she pulls harder, disturbed by the self-satisfied face of Senkuu and Suika’s own determination, “Kaseki and Lillian fight about that stuff, like, all the time. I don’t mind.”</p><p>But</p><p>
  <em>But—why? Why are you so set on making me stay? Why do you try to find excuses to keep me there, when I’m the least needed person around here right now?</em>
</p><p>Gen glances at the door, “Suika-chan—“</p><p>“And I think you’re plenty fun, Gen,” she says as if that’s the most important thing, “and we have a big cake, too. I think you deserve it.”</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Deserve.</p><p>
  <em>‘Am I worthy of love?’ </em>
</p><p>Senkuu makes a grab at his shoulder and finally, finally Gen actually moves, swaying as he does but walking forwards nonetheless.</p><p>“Go on, Suika,” Senkuu tells her, “I will drag him there if I have to, but I’m sure Lillian was calling for you just now.”</p><p>Gen feels oddly numb as she lets go of his feet, then after  a moment of hesitation hand, too and runs away to the living room where all the commotion is happening. Senkuu waits a second, just to be sure, before letting go, too.</p><p>Gen immediately feels cold.</p><p>“She’s not lying, you know,” Senkuu says, “Lillian invited you here. Besides,” he casts him a teasing grin, “Aren’t you the famed mentalist taking every opportunity to profit? The cake is delicious, after all.”</p><p>Ah, it is what he told him, isn’t it?’</p><p>“You want more shows, huh?”</p><p>Senkuu snorts, “Please, no. I just don’t want Suika to pout. No one will handle that and I will end up making another rocket.”</p><p>“Sur—wait. A rocket?”</p><p>Senkuu raises an eyebrow, “Curious?”</p><p>Gen wants to protest, but then he thinks it over and allows for a slow, “…maybe.”</p><p>“Then you will have to stay to find out,” Senkuu says and nudges him forwards, “Come on.”</p><p>And Gen does, albeit hesitantly so and not wanting to move too fast. Senkuu doesn’t push and he doesn’t wait for him either, and by the time they’re both in the living room Suika is hoisted up to blow out the candles and Lillian is snapping pictures of the whole circle there. It feels like right out of TV show.</p><p>But—</p><p>But no one needs to perform, or act, or make a scene. There’s no Mama, and no alcohol. No Kasumi, either. Gen’s bones are still chill, exhaustion clinging to them and his face is twitching as if wanting to smile, but not having the strength to. Yet, Lillian looks at him and tips her head to where there’s an empty seat.</p><p>He thinks she planned it.</p><p>He finds he doesn’t care.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Exhaustion fully crashes into him at the end of the party. All that’s left of the cake is one piece, falling apart and showing the strawberry inside. Gen is staring at it for full ten minutes now and he still doesn’t think he can drag his eyes somewhere else. His hands itch with the familiar urge to grab his cards and toss them. His eyelids are heavy and his throat is tight.</p><p>He feels like he can cry.</p><p>He feels like he could go and sleep and never wake up.</p><p>It’s not that the party sucked all the energy out of him – maybe it’s just that he’s gotten so used to this routine of waking up, going to the café and staring out of the window that actually doing something else, interacting with people and entertaining them feels like relapse. Like there’s something else he should be doing.</p><p>But he can’t move now. It’s one of the things he feared would happen. The helplessness and tiredness. The aching of his bones. The dryness of his throat. He needs to—</p><p>No.</p><p>‘Needs to isolate’ doesn’t sound right.</p><p>He considers excusing himself, mustering out some strength to get up and go home, walk the streets for as long as he can, to collapse on his bed and forget he’s a breathing, existing human being, when he sees Lillian’s blond hair suddenly obstructing his view.</p><p>He takes a breath, slowly letting out the air, “Weinberg.”</p><p>The name comes out in a drawl, and there’s no mistaking of some letters slurring.</p><p>“Asagiri,” Lillian parrots, waving her hand in front of him, “Tired? I thought you’d be used to late hours, with how your shows are usually during the night.”</p><p>Not correct, but Gen doesn’t bother explaining that the studio records the show during the day, sometimes afternoons and that nights are usually spend with him tossing and turning or attending some after-show parties.</p><p>He opens his mouth, closes it.</p><p>He wants to go home.</p><p>(He doesn’t know where home is.)</p><p>“I need my beauty sleep,” is all he gets out, before his tongue turns to lead and his breath stutters. Lillian leans forwards, right into his space and he flinches away – a barely noticeable move – and that’s enough to stop the woman.</p><p>She frowns.</p><p>“Are you alright?”</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>“Yes,” Gen takes a second to gather his bearings, then he leans forwards, his hands in front of himself. His muscles scream in pain, “Tired.”</p><p>“That’s—“</p><p>“Oh! Hey, Gen!” Louder, but familiar now voice stops him as Gen straightens out and – surprisingly even for Gen himself – he tips forwards, vision going dark for hot three seconds as he realizes that someone catches him before he could hit the floor, “Gen? Gen, are you okay? Are you hurt somewhere? Lillian, maybe you could call—?”</p><p>“Fine,” Gen grits out and wriggles in Byakuya’s grips, skin hot, “Fine, just going home.”</p><p>“In that state?” Byakuya helps him stand straight, hand on his forearm just in case. Gen nearly recoils at the amount of concern on his face, “You know, I don’t think that’s wise. You look pretty sick, pal.”</p><p>There’s a sudden urge to lean into the soft touch of Lillian’s hand on his forehead – this, <em>this desire</em> to let himself be taken care of that he buried in himself before, because his mother, his Mama could <em>never</em> offer it to him – and it <em>scares</em> him.</p><p>The weakness of his, to even desire comfort from hands of a stranger.</p><p>“Stood up too fast,” he explains, tight-lipped and leaning away, “Forgive me, Ishigami-san—“</p><p>“Oh, woah. That makes me feel old.”</p><p>“I have to be getting home,” Gen says, ignoring the traitorous heart of his begging him to stay, “I have a busy day ahead of myself.”</p><p>Lillian purses her lips. Byakuya shoots him uncertain look, “Still…”</p><p>“I’m really, really okay,” Gen finds his footing and fixes his scarf, but his hands still shake. He grips at the material, focusing on the softness of it, “No need to worry.”</p><p>“Well, you can’t blame me,” Byakuya shrugs, “Senkuu’s not that younger than you and you just look so scrawny. Like a wind could steal you away.”</p><p>Gen snorts.</p><p>“We could drive you,” Lillian suddenly says and Byakuya’s face clears, as if it was the greatest idea ever, “Just for our peace of mind.”</p><p>“There is really no need—“</p><p>“We insist,” Byakuya lets go of his forearm and Gen hates himself for lingering on the spot where he was gripping him, wanting the warmth to return even if it seemed childish, “It’s no trouble, at all.”</p><p>Gen looks away.</p><p>Lillian clear her throat, “Well? It’s my fault you got dragged here anyways.”</p><p>“Fine,” he mutters out.</p><p>Byakuya beams at him and Gen tightens his hold on his scarf, awkward.</p><p>Weird people.</p><p>So, so weird.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>gen, at home: i think i should stop talking to strangers.<br/>also gen, later, at the cafe: why, hello there, miss, how do you do?</p><p>*</p><p>you ever write something so profound it makes you freeze and wonder if you're actually showing signs of intelligence or if it's just the sleep deprivation?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 3. let that be a lesson for me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You don't need to forgive anyone who hurt you, you don't have to justify having a bad day - but getting some closure, getting some relief on those days, there's no shame in that.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title taken from Autoheart's, Sailor Song</p><p>hey, hey, hey to anyone who actually did read that - i saw some of you comment, so lemme just tell you that you absolutely have my heart! - i think this was a journey that i took without even realizing. we all struggle to find a meaning at times, and sometimes it turns out that this one thing we're good at is the thing that brings us down. i wanted to explore that at the time when i felt my worse, so that's probably why in this work you'll find some grave mistakes. i tried to fix it up as i went, but well. </p><p>it's just that, sometimes a journey doesn't end at a destination. sometimes, a journey ends where you meet your beginning and there isn't a simple solution to what you've been through. recovery, after all, takes years and suddenly gaining friends or support system won't make it speed up. it won't make it all better, but - i think it can help a lot, and it can be a strenght we can use for ourselves after, so. </p><p>yeah. that's just what i wanted to say. thanks to all that read this. it means a WHOLE lot to me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next time Gen sees Senkuu is, surprisingly, not at the café but the local park that Gen decided to scout out when going to the café seemed too overwhelming. It happens early morning, too, because Gen hasn’t slept at all and there are thousands if not millions of thoughts going in circles – somehow going outside appeared to be a great idea at the moment. It certainly doesn’t feel like he made a good decision <em>now.</em></p><p>(Especially since Senkuu looks like he hasn’t slept all that good, either).</p><p>“What are you doing here, Senkuu-chan?” Gen asks, sitting on the bench in front of a pond, “Are you, perhaps, missing me so much you decided to stalk me?”</p><p>Senkuu doesn’t even twitch as Gen leans into his space, “Are you always this annoying in the morning?”</p><p>“Maybe,” Gen allows, “Probably.”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>The lack of science ramble and the fact that Senkuu isn’t even trying to tease him back makes something heavy sit on a bottom of Gen’s stomach, and the cold sweat that makes its way down his back isn’t really reassuring, either. The shades under Senkuu’s eyes aren’t a good sign and Gen tries to tell himself that he doesn’t care, he doesn’t even know him that well – but somehow looking at him, in this state, doesn’t sit <em>right </em>with him.</p><p>So Gen leans away and looks forwards to the pond.</p><p>He feels strangely out of his element.</p><p>“I’m fine, you know,” Senkuu speaks up before Gen can even open his mouth, “I just needed to clear my head.”</p><p>Gen hesitates, “You don’t really look all that great, Senkuu-chan.”</p><p>There’s a sardonic smile as Senkuu glances at him and answers, “Rough night. What about you, Mentalist?”</p><p>“I feel like you’re avoiding answering my question,” Gen pushes despite his mind screaming at him to let it go, because Senkuu’s eyes are too perceptive, too sharp for his liking, and there’s this glint in them when he looks at him that tells Gen that he’s becoming too transparent, too caring, “Is it common for future scientists?”</p><p>“I was working on another project,” Senkuu replies, as if to spite him and Gen blinks, “Something isn’t working the way it should – I will spare you the jargon you won’t understand – and it bugs me. That’s why I didn’t get much sleep,” he leans back and closes his eyes, “I probably messed up some of my calculations. It happens, but I thought a walk in a park would help.”</p><p>Feeling immensely embarrassed by his honesty, Gen merely mumbles a, “Oh.”</p><p>Senkuu grins at him, “Is everything always so negative with you, Mentalist? Is the great Asagiri Gen changing careers to a therapist?”</p><p>“I was just—“ Gen trails off, narrowing his eyes, “Hey, stop that.”</p><p>“Stop what?”</p><p>“<em>That,”</em> Gen vaguely gestures to Senkuu’s, well, everything, “Trying to bait me into something.”</p><p>“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Senkuu admits, but his grin doesn’t fade, “Just having a normal conversation, at God-knows-o’clock, with a mentalist who just happened to play a show at my favorite person’s birthday,” Gen raises an eyebrow, still very much irritated, “and a person who just happens to be very <em>paranoid.”</em></p><p>“We’re <em>strangers</em>.”</p><p>“I think we’re at least acquaintances,” Senkuu corrects, “since we’ve known each other for few weeks now.”</p><p>“That’s not how it works,” Gen insists, agitated.</p><p>Senkuu sighs, finally opening his eyes, “Alright, enlighten me then, Mister I-Wrote-A-Book-Once. How does it work?”</p><p>“You,” Gen starts, sitting up straight and locking his miffed eyes with his bold and challenging ones, “don’t become friends just by talking. I’d have tens of them already if that was the case.”</p><p>“Hmm, I have a different opinion on this, but go on.”</p><p>“Go on?”</p><p>“How does one become friends?” <em>with you</em>, goes unsaid.</p><p>“Well,” Gen stammers, taken aback, before he continues, voice a bit stronger to at least appear like he’s not affected by the whole situation, “they hang out a lot,” Senkuu waves his hand to let him to know that he’s listening, “and talk outside some random meetings at local café. They,” he looks away, awkward, “help each other and support each other. They do things the other likes and meet the other person’s friends, too—“</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>Gen swallows as Senkuu gets up and brings out his hand, “Alright what?”</p><p>“Gimme your phone,” Gen uncertainly eyes the device in his hand, “I’m not going to hack it, relax.”</p><p>“Why do you need it?” He asks as he hesitantly hands it over and watches as Senkuu unlocks it and types something in, “Senkuu-chan?”</p><p>He wonders if  it looks weird that his phone consists of a very small amount of numbers. Back then, he used to have his Mother’s and homeroom teacher’s number, but he deleted those as soon as he moved out. Now it’s only Kasumi, a handful of some of the press  people’s contact info and—</p><p>Well. That’s that. Perhaps that fact, too, makes his existence seem a bit sad. After all, aren’t people his age supposed to have—</p><p>“I will text you,” he says as he gives it back and Gen stares at new contact proudly blinking at him from above Kasumi’s number, “so we can hang out.</p><p>Gen stares.</p><p>“And then we can meet my friends,” Senkuu continues, and the bangs under his eyes don’t even look that bad when his eyes shine with new-found idea, “and do things together. And after that—“</p><p>“But—“</p><p>“And after that,” Senkuu cuts in, before he can say something more, “you can decide if we’re friends or not.”</p><p>“It’s not worth it,” slips out and he feels white panic build up when Senkuu’s gaze stays on him for too long, too calculating.</p><p>And then, unbothered, Senkuu answers, “That’s up to me to decide, not you.”</p><p>
  <em>For him to decide…</em>
</p><p>“You’re crazy,” is what Gen settles on, frowning at the phone.</p><p>Senkuu never answers.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Despite his own desire to stay at home (like he did for such long time before) Gen does show up at the Ishigamis door when Senkuu texts him. He leaves his deck of cards at home for the first time in his life and pretends to not feel like he’s stripped and bare and <em>vulnerable</em>. He catches a sight of his own face – the pale skin, the too deep eye bags that stand out too much – and his eyes stay a bit too long on his dark hair.</p><p>For some reason the color doesn’t sit right with him. It’s too dark. It makes him look sickly and ragged. Like he’s a walking corpse just waiting for his death.</p><p>He hates it, he realizes as the door opens and he’s forced to lift up his gaze, he hates it because it reminds him of his mother a bit too much.</p><p>“Ah, good morning,” he bows a little at that, hands intertwined together as he smiles, a bit too widely to be considered genuine, “We meet again, Ishigami-san.”</p><p>“Uh,” comes out, before the man shakes his head and moves to the side, “Hi. I’m sorry, I’m usually more collected, but it’s still weird to see, ah—“</p><p>“Someone famous?” Gen asks as he steps inside and takes of his shoes, feeling awkward, “I get that all the time.”</p><p>“I guess,” is the reluctant answer, but then he grins, “Is it okay if I call you Gen, though?”</p><p>He stills.</p><p>Kasumi’s face flashes in his mind. The way she always holds this sense of professionalism around that tells you that the relationship they have is strictly business. That there’s no care other than that of  someone who’s worried of  losing their investment. A part of Gen knows that this is not completely true, either – humans can’t distance themselves so much – but another, more persistent thought is that she would quickly find replacement for him.</p><p>Like all others.</p><p>She never called him Gen. He knows she’s been his manager for a long time now, but she never left off his surname. Never strayed away from the line that lays between being friendly and business appropriate.</p><p>And here is Ishigami Byakuya, another adult who’s basically a stranger to him, initiating something that could lead to more connections.</p><p>Because using Gen’s name – it always felt personal.</p><p>“It’s—“ Gen slowly turns around to not look at him, “—fine.”</p><p>“You sure?” there’s a hint of worry, again, “It’s alright if you don’t want to.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” he clears his throat and tries to will away the warmth in his chest, fixing his hair, “Senkuu-chan is…?”</p><p>“Ah, right! Follow me, I’ll show you his room.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Senkuu’s amused look doesn’t ease even when Taiju accidentally slips from Senkuu’s bed onto the floor with a loud thud. Gen just stands there for a moment, processing before he shakes his head and wills himself to act natural.</p><p>“Taiju-san,” he greets, “Nice to see you again.”</p><p>“Asagiri Gen!”</p><p>The smile on his face cracks, “That’s me.”</p><p>“Senkuu!” Taiju looks to the boy still on the bed with a book and points at Gen in the entrance, “You didn’t tell me it was<em> him</em> coming over.”</p><p>“I didn’t think that was important,” Senkuu retorts, finally looking at Gen, “You look even more like shit.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“No, really. Shittier than the last time,” Senkuu throws the book on the desk by the window, “Almost like since the last time we meet you didn’t hit the pillow at all.”</p><p>“The thoughts of you plagued my mind,” Gen deadpanned and Taiju’s eyes widened, “Don’t play a therapist with me, Senkuu-chan. You’ll find it useless and a waste of time.”</p><p>“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, but his eyes stayed a bit too long on his face to be considered normal, “Yuzuriha is coming over in a bit.”</p><p>Gen almost regrets coming over as well and agreeing to this whole thing. Almost, because as soon as he spots the cola on the table in the corner the situation somehow feels a bit better, a bit, ah, how would one phrase it? A bit <em>less miserable</em>, maybe.</p><p>Senkuu lets him take a cup and pour some in it. He doesn’t even blink when Gen takes place next to him. Taiju eagerly throws himself on the bed between them.</p><p>“So, Senkuu says you’re taking time off the show business,” Taiju starts, clearly uncomfortable with silence. Gen tries to not flinch every time he brushes against his thigh, “Is it because you fainted that time?”</p><p>“I didn’t faint,” he finds himself saying, a bit defensive, before he wills himself to politely smile at him, “I just… got dizzy.”</p><p>“Senkuu said you fainted.”</p><p>Gen’s eyebrow twitches at the insistence.</p><p>“So?”</p><p>“Senkuu is really smart,” Taiju says that like a fact and it makes Senkuu snort as he glances up from his phone, “so he wouldn’t be wrong about that. Besides, your manager looked really worried.”</p><p>“Right,” Gen swallows, “well, I was fine. Dizziness. It happens sometimes.”</p><p>“I see,” Taiju frowns for a moment, before he shrugs, “Well, not like it matters, right?” before Gen can question him about that weird statement, he continues with a, “Oh, hey, is it true that your favorite color is green?”</p><p>A bit wide-eyed and surprised at the change in topic, Gen replies, “Sure.”</p><p>“Why’s that?”</p><p>“Probably because of some psychology trick,” Senkuu buts in and when Gen glances at him, he’s staring right at Gen’s hair, “Isn’t it? Green is calming for the mind.”</p><p>“Yes, because of its strong association with nature and tranquility, and couple other reasons, although, I don’t think I came here to be interrogated,” he points the last part of his sentence to Senkuu, who innocently whistles, “Is this some kind of plot to kidnap me and demand ransom?”</p><p>“Are you worth enough? I was looking to rent out a whole apartment to conduct some of my experiments.”</p><p>“Ha. Ha. Very funny. No. I am not, and,” he holds his hand up when Taiju opens his mouth, “yes. Situations like this happened before. I’m not amused.”</p><p>“You weren’t supposed to be.”</p><p>“I can’t believe I’m even sitting here, listening to all this,” Gen takes a sip of his cola and glares at Senkuu when the taste doesn’t match with the taste Gen is used to, “This is terrible.”</p><p>“Oh. Yeah, that’s not the cola you buy in the markets.”</p><p>Gen stills and then, as if nothing happened, puts the glass of cola down onto the table. He doesn’t even try to hide his annoyance when Senkuu grins at him. The only thing stopping Gen from reaching over and strangling him is his stupidly small amount of strength and a witness.</p><p>Before Taiju can but in with another question, a bell rings downstairs and he leaves the room with a loud, “I’ll get that!” that has Gen twitching away from the sound. Only when he’s sure Taiju can’t hear him he leans down to whisper at Senkuu, “Why did you even invite me here?”</p><p>“So you can meet my friends and realize that you’re being stupid and paranoid,” Senkuu says bluntly.</p><p>“What’s that supposed to even mean?” Gen whisper-yells at him.</p><p>“It means,” Senkuu says as they hear the footsteps nearing the door, “that I think you’re overreacting. Just relax and enjoy Taiju’s stupid ramblings about cute puppies and Yuzuriha’s latest projects. If that doesn’t convince you, then maybe you’re not as smart as you said.”</p><p>“I’ll—“ Gen starts as Senkuu raises an eyebrow at him, “I’ll do something.”</p><p>“Woah,” Senkuu deadpans, “I quiver in fear, Mentalist.”</p><p>He wants to glare at him or punch him, but the door swings open again and Gen settles back and smiles. It feels so forced and insincere that Senkuu rolls his eyes and nudges his arm. Taiju doesn’t even blink at that, though and goes back to his seat between the two of them, while Yuzuriha places her things on the table next to the cursed cola-not-cola and joins them on the bed. The space is cramped, and frankly, it should feel uncomfortable.</p><p>It doesn’t, though. Yuzuriha smiles widely at him, “Nice to meet you again, I’m Yuzuriha. Gen, right?”</p><p>“Likewise,” he shakes her hand and lets her snuggle her way into his space as she brings out some—</p><p>Oh.</p><p>“Are those dolls?”</p><p>“Yeah!” she tilts the materials so he can see and brings out more things from her jacket, “I thought we could do something together. Senkuu said you never played around with crafts.”</p><p><em>I literally never mentioned that,</em> Gen thinks as he glances at Senkuu who goes back to scrolling through his phone, “I guess I didn’t.”</p><p>Noting his hesitance, Yuzuriha blinks, before she flushes a bit red, “If you want, of course! I know how Senkuu gets, so maybe you’re not even interested—“</p><p>“Lay off, Yuzuriha,” Senkuu mutters out, “It will do him some good.”</p><p>“Are you hinting at something?”</p><p>Senkuu sends him a look, “I don’t know. You’re the mentalist of the group, so tell me. <em>Am I</em> hinting at something?”</p><p>“I sense some tension between you both,” Taiju manages to say before they could start arguing, “And that’s not good. Aren’t we all friends?”</p><p>“Yeah!” Yuzuriha pumps her fist up, “Let’s make up and bond over making some dolls. Here,” she hands something to Senkuu, “You didn’t finish yours before. And Taiju, can you give me the bag from the table? Oh, yes. Thanks. Here,” she drops some materials on Gen’s lap and wiggles her hands a little, “Watch closely. I will show you how to sew this properly, alright?”</p><p>Gen follows and does as he’s told, but maybe it’s because he’s a bit too shocked to do anything else, with Taiju’s words echoing in his mind like a mantra. The ‘<em>aren’t we all friends?</em>’ becoming an unhealthy obsession as Gen tries to pick that sentence apart and find out the catch in them.</p><p>He finds none.</p><p>There isn’t a catch, not really. Taiju and Yuzuriha are just so friendly that they really, really consider him a friend already. He wonders if that’s just Senkuu’s influence, though. Maybe it’s just because of his opinion on Gen’s way of living that made them so eager to befriend him.</p><p>That doesn’t change the fact that Yuzuriha sits very close to him as she carefully shows him how to thread a needle, and it doesn’t make Taiju put some distance between them as he’s leaning a lot into Gen’s side, his body warmth quickly chasing off the lingering cold of his bones.</p><p>It doesn’t make Senkuu comment on that, either. In fact, Senkuu just knowingly looks at Gen’s star-struck expression and goes back to scrolling, and maybe it’s then, or when Yuzuriha grips his hands when they shake too much, but in that moment he sees them all, and thinks.</p><p>
  <em>Oh. </em>
</p><p>Maybe they could be friends, after all.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Nothing really gets better after that, except that it <em>does</em> change things.</p><p>Not a lot of them help him – Gen isn’t stupid enough to think that suddenly meeting a pair of people so eager to get to know him is going to make <em>a dent</em> in his way of thinking – but there’s a certain feeling that accompanies him when they text or call him.</p><p>The usual ‘how are you?’ and the ‘hey, we should meet up’ and the ‘let’s do something together’ all blur together and make Gen think that something’s up. Something that he struggles to see. Something he struggles to <em>understand </em>for the first time in a while.</p><p>He picked being a mentalist to find out why certain individuals act the way they do; he picked it up to get a job because he was good at deceiving people; he learned and learned to get why his Mother decided to hate him for something that wasn’t supposed to be his fault.</p><p>And it was easy. Easy to know and find out. But—</p><p>Then, he thinks of Yuzuriha’s steady hands and the delicate smile. The rough and calloused skin brushing against Gen’s cold one. The firm and reassuring presence of Taiju leaning against him, side-grabbing him and laughing. Taiju’s warmth that just seeps through Gen’s bones.</p><p>There’s Senkuu and his logical, almost annoyingly so, way of dealing with Gen’s problems, too.</p><p>You need someone to fix your fridge? Not to worry, Senkuu already has an idea that doesn’t even include hiring a professional. You want some science facts? Senkuu will literally quote the entire Wikipedia article at you. Gen is both impressed and terrified by the guy’s determination to be the Smart Guy.</p><p>It just happens that, when they get so insistent at getting to know him, Gen starts to have trouble covering his frowns with smiles. At some point, he’s just so sure he can’t keep it up any longer that he ponders the thought of leaving them and  never calling back.</p><p>And exactly at this point, it just happens that his Mama— his Mother lands in the hospital.</p><p>And so Gen doesn’t even react all that much at the news. The doctors said it’s because they’ve found her unconscious in her kitchen after the neighbor called them in. The whole room was bathed with the alcohol smell and her own clothes were dirty and smelly. Gen had to squash the initial humiliation and shame before he could reassure the nurse that <em>yes, he will speak with his mother. </em></p><p>The truth is, however, that Gen doesn’t want to.</p><p>He doesn’t want to see her. Part of him does – obviously – but it’s the part that Gen hates the most. The hatred he can never quite get rid of. He’s tired and exhausted – and despite knowing that it’s the right thing to do, he still can’t convince himself to go. He knows that when he will see her, something inside him will <em>break </em>again, and he won’t be able to pick himself up.</p><p>So he spends hours in his bedroom, curled up and miserable. Then, he gets up and tries to eat something. Then, only then, he dressed up. And it would have ended on that if someone hadn’t knocked when he doubled over the sink, tears threatening to spill.</p><p>He’s just— He doesn’t know what to <em>do</em>.</p><p>About his mother, about the knocking, about himself – he doesn’t know what he needs because he’s spent his whole life being so self-sufficient that suddenly having someone around is overwhelming.</p><p>So he chokes the tears down and wipes his face. He takes a deep breath and pretends it doesn’t stutter halfway out of his mouth. And he leans away from the sink and makes his way towards the door, even though he sways and feels weak and stupid and <em>bad</em>— because his Mama is in the hospital and he’s taking so long to decide whether it’s <em>worth it</em> visiting her and getting his heart broken <em>again—</em></p><p>The door swings open when he unlocks it and stills.</p><p>And so does Yuzuriha and Senkuu. Gen doesn’t know if it’s because of the state he’s in or because of the state his apartment is in. What’s worse, he doesn’t know. He just stupidly stares at them, trying to understand how the heck they even got his address.</p><p>So—</p><p>“You look like shit.”</p><p>“Gen, are you alright?”</p><p>They both speak at the same time, sharing a look right after. Yuzuriha nudges Senkuu harshly and sends him a look that is clearly meant to intimidate.</p><p>“What?” Senkuu asks her, as if insulted, “He does look like shit, what do you want from me?”</p><p>“Well, you don’t have to say it!” Yuzuriha whisper-yells at him, “He looks hurt.”</p><p>“Doesn’t look all that hurt. Just gloomy.”</p><p>“Senkuu! Show some compassion!”</p><p>“Um.” Gen tries, and trails off when something gets stuck in his throat, making him stutter pathetically, “What—?”</p><p>Senkuu doesn’t say anything, he just gives Yuzuriha another look then pushes his way into the apartment, as if it were his own house and Yuzuriha follows right after, all while Gen just stares right after them, closing the door.</p><p>His hands shakes at the handle. His breath hitches.</p><p>Oh. That is certainly, without any doubts, the worst time they could catch him at. Not even that time at Suika’s party was that bad.</p><p>“Your apartment looks pretty empty,” Senkuu comments, but Gen doesn’t even move from his place, “Do you even live here or just crash somewhere else?”</p><p>Yuzuriha isn’t as blunt as he is. Instead, she looks around, worried. Her face doesn’t betray her thoughts, though. There’s the edge to her eyes – the one that tells Gen that she’s hesitating about something and she’s not sure how to go about some topic.</p><p>When she finally looks at him, Gen just leans against the door.</p><p>“Did—did something happen, Gen?” she asks and her tone is so gentle, so kind it’s like honey over the open wound that is Gen’s heart and maybe that’s what does it and makes him slide down the door and curl up his knees, stare empty, “Oh no, Gen—! Are you alright?”</p><p>Something tight coils around his chest.</p><p>“He’s… probably fine,” Senkuu asserts, but finally even his voice sounds a bit concerned, “I think he’s just stressed himself out just now. He’ll be fine.”</p><p>“He doesn’t look fine,” Yuzuriha says distressed. Senkuu gives her a look, before he sighs and takes a step forwards, towards him, only to stop dead when Gen twitches.</p><p>Nothing escapes Senkuu’s eyes. That one Gen always knew, even before they got so close. He’s a science nerd, after all. You don’t just underestimate those people. They probably know thousands of ways to kill someone and make sure the body is nowhere to be found.</p><p>Gen always dreamed of death. Of the uncertain. Of the unknown.</p><p>Is he still—?</p><p>“Hey, Mentalist,” Senkuu starts to advance again, but Gen still doesn’t really see him, “I can see that something’s wrong. And you’re slightly panicking,” he pointedly looks at Gen’s hand trying to rip off the skin on his arm, “which I don’t really understand, because psychology is more of your thing, isn’t it?”</p><p>He’s four steps away now.</p><p>Gen clears his throat and tries to speak, but everything he’s built around himself is crashing down and crumbling, and the only sound that comes out of his mouth is a quiet whimper at being unable to speak.</p><p>
  <em>So pathetic. Isn’t it, Mama?</em>
</p><p>“We came to see you,” Senkuu is saying, and he’s two steps away now, “because Yuzuriha is a worrywart and wouldn’t back off when I told her you’re fine. But I see she was right, wasn’t she?”</p><p>Gen’s eyes zero on Senkuu’s hands, as if he was expecting them to do something other than reach out to him.</p><p>Senkuu notices, and something akin to sick realization comes across his face before it’s wiped off and replaced by Senkuu’s usual nonchalance.</p><p>“We don’t have to talk about it. In fact, I’d rather we didn’t,” ignoring Yuzuriha’s insulted huff, Senkuu continues, “You can have a therapy session with Yuzuriha later, if you want, though. For now, I just,” he finally crouches in front of him and Gen’s eyes are forced to lock with Senkuu’s calm red ones, “want you do hold my hand, like this.”</p><p>He grabs the one that’s trying to stab through the skin, and squeezes. Gen’s breath hitches, hiccups and then, settles when that’s all that happens. Encouraged by that, Senkuu reaches out his second hand and untangles Gen’s fist from his shirt and holds it against his own chest.</p><p>“Can you feel my hand?” Gen nods, still out of it, “Can you feel my heart?”</p><p>After a second of listening, Gen can feel it. The slow, calm beat of his heart, right against Gen’s trembling hand.</p><p>“How does my shirt feel, Gen?”</p><p>He licks his lips and tries. Words don’t come. His touch burns through his skin.</p><p>He looks at Senkuu, ashamed and trying to curl away, but Senkuu holds steady and pressed against the material.</p><p>“How does it feel?”</p><p>Finally—</p><p>“Soft,” he chokes out.</p><p>Senkuu squeezes his other hand again and intertwines their fingers.</p><p>“And my hand? How does it feel?”</p><p>“Rough,” he strains against the rock in his throat, “warm?”</p><p>Nodding, Senkuu changes his position, kneeling instead of crouching and leans forwards. His hair almost brushes against Gen’s and his breath almost touches his forehead. Gen can’t see Yuzuriha from this position, but he hears her in the kitchen. There’s just him and Senkuu, against the door, and without anything else.</p><p>“And how do I smell?”</p><p>“Disinfectant,” he scrunches his nose, “Chemicals. Yuck.”</p><p>Senkuu stills, before he snorts and leans back. He still doesn’t let go of him but he’s respectful distance now, the lingering sting of his touch lessening drastically and Gen, after moment of hesitation, squeezes back, curious. Senkuu doesn’t laugh in his face and doesn’t comment on the fact that there’s a small, barely there, smile on Gen’s face when he tighten his hold.</p><p>And then.</p><p>Then—</p><p>He breathes out. Slow. The pressure untangles itself from his chest and falls apart, like a frozen chain pulled and broken with a chainsaw.</p><p>“You’re back with me?” Senkuu asks, eyes assessing him and taking apart. Gen almost shivers.</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“Is that a no?”</p><p>Gen gives him a tired look.</p><p>“Alright, alright.”</p><p>“What are you—“ Gen starts and re-starts, frowning despite the notion making his headache worse, “Why?”</p><p>Senkuu, who took a moment to look around and give him a little space, stills as if not expecting this question to land so soon. His fingers twitch against Gen’s, before he sighs and rolls his eyes.</p><p>“We’re friends, aren’t we?”</p><p>Gen looks at him with carefully crafted expression of utmost suspicion and narrows his eyes. The headache spikes again at that, but Gen brushes it off when he catches the sight of Yuzuriha balancing two cups of something steaming on the plate and places it on the table in the kitchen. He considers telling her that he probably hasn’t washed the dishes in weeks, before he realizes that she probably took care of them already.</p><p>He wants to sigh. He wants to sleep.</p><p>Instead, he looks at their joined hands and squeezes again. Senkuu doesn’t even react.</p><p>“How?” Senkuu gives him a look, “How’d you know?”</p><p>“Yuzuriha mentioned that you were supposed to call her,” he says, shrugging, “when you didn’t answer, she decided to check on you. We got your address from my dad – he drove you back home that one time, remember?”</p><p>Oh. Yeah. That did happen.</p><p>Makes sense.</p><p>“Ah,” Gen nods, “that’s kind of a breach of privacy.”</p><p>Yuzuriha takes this chance to peek into the hallway to say, “It was all in the name of good, besides,” she smiles at him, although her eyes still look worried, “you look like you need someone to cheer you up. So all’s good, right?”</p><p>It actually makes no sense. They don’t know each other that long, even if it feels forever, and she had no reason to actually concern herself over his well-being. It would be logical to ignore him if he didn’t just answer the phone.</p><p>But she didn’t do that.</p><p>She—</p><p>And Senkuu, they came. To him.<em> For</em> him.</p><p>Warmth travels down his chest and to his feet, claiming a permanent spot right above his heart when he finally, finally understands, somehow, that he’s <em>not</em> imagining this. It’s not another fever dream where he wants his mother to be Mama again, it’s not another daydream of being surrounded with people who want something more than his face and hands.</p><p>It’s real. It’s honest to God, <em>real. </em></p><p>“Yes, I guess it is,” he clears his throat, finally untangling their hands and fidgeting in his place, “Sorry for all that. I’m usually more—“</p><p>“Clever at hiding that you’re hurting? Yes, we know,” Senkuu interrupts, a bit harshly, “I don’t appreciate it, by the way. Neither does Yuzuriha.”</p><p>The girl behind them agrees wordlessly. Gen winces.</p><p>“More composed, I was about to say, Senkuu-chan. You just caught me at bad time, that’s all,” he makes a move to stand and supports himself against the door. He feels drained, “I’m still sorry you had to witness that.”</p><p>“It’s no bother!” Yuzuriha immediately tells him as she watches him make his way towards the kitchen, “We all need to let it out, sometimes. You don’t look like you had a chance at it, before I mean.”</p><p>Gen hesitates, “No. I didn’t.”</p><p>It feels like ash coming out of his mouth. He wishes he could just go back to bed.</p><p>“I made tea,” she says as Senkuu comes in and makes himself at home at the kitchen counter, “I hope you don’t mind? I don’t know if you usually have it like this, but my mom always made me a cup when I felt down and it helped.”</p><p>He’s still a bit stunned and processing, so he only nods and mumbles his thanks as he takes a seat and the cup of the steaming tea in his hands. The warmth is almost as hot as the feeling of security in his chest.</p><p>“You’re a real blessing, Yuzuriha-chan,” he comments and watches as she blushes, “I would have been fine, you know?”</p><p>Senkuu mutters something from his side. Yuzuriha barely spares him a glance as she answers, “Thanks, Gen! But I really wish you didn’t say that.”</p><p>Before he could question what she means, Senkuu butts in, “So? What happened?”</p><p>“Mhm?”</p><p>“This, ah. What do you psychology pals call it normally?”</p><p>“Anxiety attack,” the name leaves his mouth before he could properly think about it and sees Yuzuriha pause at that, “It happens sometimes. Nothing serious.”</p><p>“Sure,” Senkuu’s answer cuts through the haze like an arrow, “but that’s not what I really asked before. So what’s eating you up, Mentalist? Not like you to just react so much to a sudden visit, is it? Something must have triggered it.”</p><p>He looks away and takes a sip of the tea. His hands shake a bit at that, with phantom pains of picking up shattered glass pulsing through his skin and unsteady breath blowing on the steam from the cup. The clock ticking above the fridge is annoying him and he considers telling them to back off, if only to make them leave and go to his silent bedroom.</p><p>But he doesn’t.</p><p>Instead, he tries to be brave, tries to remember all the times he stood on the stage and charmed the audience. All the times he knew how to play and act to pull something off. Even if those memories feel like they’re fading over the time.</p><p>“I just got a call from the hospital,” slips out and Yuzuriha reaches out her hand to grip at his arm in a weird gesture of compassion and support that he has yet to understand, “about my—my mother. She got admitted when they found her unconscious at her home. Drunk out of her mind. She must have taken too much this time,” he closes his eyes when he feels the tears he’s ashamed of burning though his eyelids, “I mean, she usually knows how to—how to avoid things like that happening, but—“</p><p>But.</p><p>Yes, that’s what it is. There’s always a ‘but’, an excuse and an explanation. Surely, she knew what she’s been doing. Surely, she knew that drinking so much and surviving on take-out can result in things like that happening.</p><p>She’s an adult.</p><p>She should have known that, and yet—</p><p>He laughs bitterly, so suddenly that Yuzuriha actually twitches and he looks at her, this pathetic need to have someone near him stronger than ever, “Isn’t that fucked up?”</p><p>Yuzuriha’s hands are gentle while Senkuu’s hard gaze softens, “What is?” she asks quietly.</p><p>In a desperate effort to calm himself, Gen busies himself with placing the cup back on the table and watching as the tea sloshes  inside. It feels like he’s not really there and that’s not him saying all that – it’s like he’s watching himself fall apart, shattering like a bottle of whiskey.</p><p>“Me,” he breathes out, slowly lifting his eyes up at her, “<em>her</em>. And the fact that I’m just sitting here, telling you all this, <em>all this</em> and thinking that it will actually make a difference when I know it won’t because—<em>because</em> she won’t change and I’m here waiting for her to suddenly turn and be—be someone I know she <em>won’t ever be</em>, and,” he cuts himself off and tries to understand why Yuzuriha doesn’t look at him with pity or disgust, but with sadness, “and I can’t even bring myself to go there and face her because I’m a coward who—“</p><p>There’s a small movement and then, there’s Yuzuriha bringing him closer to her and tucking his head against her shoulder as he gasps through the unshed tears and pressure on his chest so heavy he could vomit it all up and still be full. Her arms encircle his waist as she squeezes him so tightly and yet so tenderly that he forgets to breathe.</p><p>And Senkuu just watches from the sidelines, crossed hands and all, but with an expression so sorrowful it doesn’t even fit him.</p><p>“I don’t know much about your relationship with her but I can tell that she hurt you, one way or another,” her voice is soft against his hair, like a lullaby meant to soothe and he practically melts into it, “and you don’t have to be alone now.”</p><p>He shuts his eyes and finally, finally his own hands come up to embrace her back.</p><p>Yuzuriha hums appreciatively, “You don’t have to go visit her, either. You don’t owe her anything, Gen,” she lifts one of her hands to stroke through his hair and he leans into it so much he’s almost ashamed of it, “but if you want some closure, I’m sure Senkuu could go in with you. I know he’s wanted to go and observe some of the patients anyways.”</p><p>Senkuu immediately pipes in, “It’s for science.”</p><p>Gen presses closer, like a touch-starved animal finally getting pets. He doesn’t say anything.</p><p>“And,” there’s a pause in her voice as she sighs, “we’re here for you, Gen. Whatever you decide, we’ll support you.”</p><p>It’s surreal. It’s— There’s a part of him that say to not trust her kindness. To not let himself be fooled with the gentleness and soothing words, to not be led astray by the sweet smell of her perfume and the comforting and steady presence of Senkuu taking apart the malfunctioning clock on his kitchen counter. </p><p>But the softened part of him – the one that slowly, but surely took home in his mind after he met Senkuu at the café – it whispers to him and tempts him. It says—</p><p>
  <em>“It’s time to rest. You’ve suffered enough.”</em>
</p><p>For the winds may blow, and the flowers may wither, but the warmth of a family will never disappear. Not even his mind could take that away. Not even the rooting place inside him could destroy that little piece of happiness.</p><p>They don’t say anything as he huddles closer to her.</p><p>Later, he finds, that their silence meant a lot more, anyways.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Senkuu-chan, you’re making me anxious,” Gen says to him as they walk side by side, “Do I really look that weird?”</p><p>His hair, courtesy of Yuzuriha, is split into half. His dark, almost black hair that reminded him so much of his own mother now looks like someone dumped half of the white paint on him and left him to dry. Gen’s not usually self-conscious but when Senkuu stares at him so clinically, even someone like him starts to have doubts.</p><p>“You looked weird before, now you just look,” Senkuu pauses, searching for words, “Yeah. You know what, I better save that for myself.”</p><p>Gen leans into his space, “You’re such a tease, Senkuu-chan, seriously.”</p><p>“Mhm,” he hums in response, eyes flicking from Gen to the empty corridor of the hospital, “Are you sure you want to visit her? It’s not too late to back out now.”</p><p>“I want to do this,” Gen says and his voice feels firm and confident, even though Gen himself is shaking with nerves, “It’s not the first time I’m visiting her after her. Drunken episode, it’s just that. It’s—“</p><p>“The first time she’s sober?” Senkuu asks bluntly and Gen stills, surprised, before he gives him a defeated smile.</p><p>“So honest. I admire that about you,” Senkuu shrugs, not bothered, “But yes. I suppose that’s why.”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>Senkuu doesn’t really say much to that and half of Gen is actually grateful. He doesn’t know how to explain himself in terms that would simplify the complicated relationship he has with his mother – it would be like talking in circles. How to say that he still loves her even though saying so makes him feel like a liar? How to tell him that Gen spent the majority of his life taking care of her that he’s forgot how to do that for himself?</p><p>So many questions, so little answers – all of that just swivels in his mind and changes into dark clouds that keep raining.</p><p>He’s said a little of that to Yuzuriha when she asked after putting dye on his hair. He’s tried to show her that it wasn’t that bad, that he made the most of it. But Yuzuriha didn’t care for much other than for the fact that it upset him.</p><p>She was angry. For him. She was sad. Still <em>for him</em>.</p><p>The life he led. The emptiness and the crushing presence of the nightmares in his mind.</p><p>Weeks of staring at the garden and wishing he were just a plant, ready to wither and die. Ready to cease existing, if only to stop feeling like he’s just another weed.</p><p>“Is that it?” Senkuu speaks up again when Gen stops near the door pointed out earlier by the nurse, “312?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Gen breathes, tucking his stray hair behind his ear, “It is.”</p><p>However, before he can come in, Senkuu tugs at his arm and stops him. Gen doesn’t even hesitate to glance at him and obey.</p><p>“Whatever happens,” Senkuu starts, staring at the door, “you don’t owe her much, even if she’s your family, you understand?”</p><p>“Senkuu-chan, bold of you to—“</p><p>He tightens his hold. His red eyes glow with something Gen hasn’t seen before.</p><p>“She doesn’t get to waltz into your life after she’s clearly became the cause of it falling apart, Gen,” Senkuu says, completely unbothered of the unspoken boundaries one could have about family and its ties, “She doesn’t get to do anything to you, when she’s done nothing <em>for</em> you. Got it?”</p><p>Gen just nods, frowning. Senkuu lets him go after another glance at the door and steps away.</p><p>“I’ll be right outside, holler if you need me.”</p><p>And so, Gen walks into the room.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The white, clean sheets and the grey walls of the hospital room of his mother’s nearly blind him as he walks in, and there’s a machine annoyingly beeping right next to the body on the bed. Gen would love to understand why she’s hooked up to so many things, but he quickly realizes that this knowledge would only make sure he’d never shake himself out of whatever daze he’d fall into right after.</p><p>But, still. The first thing that hits him isn’t the clean and white room.</p><p>It’s the lack of the smell of the alcohol. The stench that seemingly followed her everywhere before isn’t there and instead, Gen can only smell flowers – lavender, most likely. If that isn’t the most shocking thing to happen—</p><p>Her face. Her face is still sickly pale. She has circles under her eyes and her fingers are bony and—</p><p><em>Ah,</em> he thinks as he nears the bed, <em>that’s just her.</em></p><p>He doesn’t seem to remember how she looked before she started to drink herself unconscious. Wasn’t that pathetic and stupid? To forget the good parts of her? To only know the bad?</p><p>“Hey, Mama,” he whispers when her eyes finally flick to him, “The doctors called me.”</p><p>He readies for an impact he knows won’t come because she’s too weak to lift her hand at him. He waits for words that will cut him and shred him like paper instead, because she always, always knew how to pick him apart and strike where it hurts, whether she knew that or not.</p><p>She tries to see him now. She tries to understand.</p><p>He knows why. It’s because she doesn’t see a reason as to why he’d actually show up. She may act like that and drive herself into conditions so severe that she needs to be hospitalized, but she knows, deep underneath it all, that she’s doing something hurtful – and she knows better than to expect him to come crawling back to her.</p><p>The fact that he does that, every time, just says something about who Asagiri Gen is, but not what she is.</p><p>“I see,” she finally drawls out with a hoarse voice, “Came to laugh at me?”</p><p>It feels like a slap.</p><p>Gen’s plastic smile stays on as he takes a step forward, so that he’s so close to the bed he could take her hand and hold it.</p><p>“I’ve never laughed at you, Mama,” he admits as if that mattered to her, “I came to see if you’re okay. You never got that bad before.”</p><p>She stares at him with her dead eyes, her dark hair so bushy and so obviously not taken care of, and with a feeling so, so close to disgust that it’s only Gen’s reflexes that keep him from flinching away. Perhaps he should have gotten used to it.</p><p><em>Or maybe I shouldn’t,</em> he thinks when he remembers Senkuu and Yuzuriha, <em>it’s not fair, is it?</em></p><p>“If you were there for me,” she starts, “then maybe you would have known. But you left, Gen-chan. You left me alone to rot and this is all your fault. See this?” she gestures around the room, with a certain kind of mocking laugh when Gen follows her hand, “This is all you. That’s what you get for leaving me after spending so much of my own time to keep you alive and—“</p><p>“That’s hardly a good assessment, seeing as I didn’t make you drink that stuff,” Gen interrupts, something growing in his chest, something that pushes aside the numbness and hollowness of the past few weeks, “I sent you money for a good doctor. I even went as far as to get a job so soon, so you wouldn’t have to spend any of <em>your</em> money on me.”</p><p>She stills, then snorts, “Well, look where that got you. Number one entertainer in Japan? Don’t make me laugh, Gen-chan.”</p><p>He narrows his eyes, “That’s a lot more than what you achieved.”</p><p>“Is that so?”</p><p>Gen hesitates at that.</p><p>The last time he spoke with his sober mother was a long, long time ago. So long, that he doesn’t remember if that was how she always was – this sharp, this mean, this unloving towards him. During her time with him, and with her drinking episodes, she’s always been emotional or aggressive.</p><p>But never this. Never on this kind of level.</p><p>It sends a pang through his chest.</p><p>“I tried,” he says then, all fight in him fading, “I tried, Mama. You wouldn’t let me help you.”</p><p>“So you decided to abandon me all-together,” she accuses.</p><p>Gen smiles, this time sadly.</p><p>“If you weren’t so drunk each time, you would know that I visited you after getting my job, after getting my new manager. When I finally ranked among the best ten performers. When I received my first fan mail. Mama,” he looks at her, when she falters, “I’ve been with you the whole time. It’s you that weren’t really there.”</p><p>“But—“ she trails off, shifting on her bed, obviously trying to sit up and actually stare him down, “—I don’t remember. I would…”</p><p>She doesn’t finish. Gen realizes all too late that his cheeks feel a little wet. He’s reminded of all those painful times when he’s been forced to stay up late to watch her sleep to make sure she wouldn’t choke in her sleep, of all the times he refused to involve himself with closer contacts so they wouldn’t want to visit his place where the alcohol made itself a permanent guest.</p><p>He’s lost so much because he wanted to gain something that was never for him.</p><p>A place in his mother’s heart.</p><p>“I don’t hold it against you, Mama,” he says, voice oddly cracking under the pressure as he laughs, “Man, I wish I could. I wish I could hate you and not love you at the same time. But I can’t,” he reaches out his hand before he decides against it and holds it to his arm, “I guess, in a way, I’m still a coward, huh?”</p><p>She doesn’t have anything to say to him, he realizes. Be it her exhaustion, or the meds they put her on, or whatever dehydration she’s going through – she just doesn’t have any words for him. She never had. He’s come to realize that now.</p><p>“Anyways,” he clears his throat, “I just wanted to see if you’re okay. I don’t know when I’ll be able to visit or—“</p><p>“Don’t.”</p><p>His voice wavers.</p><p>He lifts his eyes, not noticing when he directed them at the floor, and nearly startled at the determination in her own eyes. At the fierceness that she’s hidden behind the alcohol. At the face of a woman who lost herself because she couldn’t find her own self after her man walked out on her.</p><p>“Mama?”</p><p>“It will be easier, Gen-chan,” her look isn’t soft, it never was, but this time it hits differently, “It will be easier if you don’t do that.”</p><p>Something drops in his stomach. Perhaps that hurt a bit too much.</p><p>She gazes at him, before she glances at her hands and the nails that tried to put holes into the sheets.</p><p>“I don’t want you to visit me anymore,” she says, as if what she’s telling him right now was an act of kindness and not backstabbing on a whole new emotional level, “You know I won’t stop drinking. You know it, Gen-chan. Don’t make me a saint, I know I’m a bitch. Manipulative at that,” something glints in her darkened eyes, “You got that from me, so I fully take credit for your success.”</p><p>“Mama—?”</p><p>Her almost there smirk, slips, “I won’t change. I won’t, Gen-chan. Don’t make it any harder than it is for yourself,” she untangles one of her hands and reaches out, her nails aren’t even painted anymore, “You’ve always wanted it from me, didn’t you? A permission.”</p><p>“Please, Mama—“</p><p>“I’m letting you go,” she says, ignoring him and her eyes catch at the way his whole face falls at that, and the way his shoulder slump, “Consider it a late gift from your deadbeat mother. My last act of kindness for you. You don’t need to keep watch on me,” then to drive it deeper, she adds, “I never wanted a kid, Gen-chan. So, I’m letting you go now.”</p><p><em>I don’t need you</em>, is what goes unsaid.</p><p><em>I never cared</em>, is what crosses her mind, probably.</p><p>
  <em>You were never someone I could love. </em>
</p><p>He was just a painful reminder of her lost love. A strange creation she could never really own up to. Maybe she really was cruel in her kindness. Maybe she really was right and it was the right thing to do.</p><p>He takes her hand and squeezes. Tears won’t stop falling down, even as he wipes them away.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says anyways.</p><p>She looks at him, taking away her hand. She wordlessly waves him away, turning and laying down on her side, watching the window in front of her. Not even the beautiful sky could make up for the fact that Gen’s heart just got painfully reset to fit the blank space inside him.</p><p>He leaves right after, he doesn’t want to look at her. He doesn’t want to make it, ah. What she said? Harder for himself to leave. He takes a detour to get his damn emotional self in order and changes route to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.</p><p>Then, and only then, he emerges from the hospital’s front door, nearly running into Senkuu’s back if it weren’t for the fact that Senkuu grabbed him before he could. The strange, grounding feel of his skin on his arm finally sets it and Gen focuses on him.</p><p>He doesn’t really say anything himself. Gen just—</p><p>He just breathes.</p><p>“Shall we go?” Senkuu asks, tugging at his arm like an excited child, not even once mentioning how red Gen’s eyes look, “Yuzuriha and Taiju agreed to meet up at the café.”</p><p>Oh.</p><p><em>Oh,</em> this warmth it’s—</p><p>Gen laughs. He can’t help it. The sound of it is hoarse and rough, as if he hasn’t laughed in years. It shakes him so much he nearly doubles over.</p><p>His bones don’t feel as cold as they did. His heart aches but he’s not in anguish. Senkuu is there and he’s real, and he’s just— <em>He’s Senkuu,</em> Gen thinks, almost hysterical, and he gives no shit about my mother because he dislikes her guts.</p><p>“Uh,” Senkuu actually blinks at that, “Are you finally losing it? Should I call Yuzuriha? I’m not really in the mood for dealing with emotions, you know. I actually got an idea for a project that I fully intend to finish tonight.”</p><p>Of course. Of course that’s be what Senku would focus on.</p><p>“Yeah,” Gen wipes at his eyes again, straightening himself up and looking at him, “Yeah, let’s go.”</p><p>Senkuu raises an eyebrow, one hand on his phone.</p><p>Gen rolls his eyes, amused, “You don’t need to call Yuzuriha on me.”</p><p>“You sure?” He eyes him, suspicious.</p><p>“Absolutely,” Gen nods, “Please, spare me. It’s just an emotional day. I’ll deal with it.”</p><p>Senkuu still doesn’t look so sure, but he lets it slide as he hides his phone and shrugs.</p><p>“Well, whatever then. Alright, so, what I was planning to do—“</p><p>The smile that appears on Gen’s face is genuine this time. Even if his eyes sting from the irritated skin, and even if he’s feeling a bit tired. Even if there’s a bit of sadness  in his chest and all over his body, like a vice keeping him there, anchored to the reality.</p><p><em>It’ll be all alright,</em> he realizes, looking at Senkuu as he chatters away about science.</p><p>
  <em>I’m not alone anymore.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i've based most of the experiences on myself, so i'd greatly appreciate it if no one came here to say that it's unrealistic or smth that wouldn't happen. it's fiction, it's my story, it's my journey that i went through at some point, so i'm grateful for everyone who takes time to comment, but at the same time - it's also a journey that doesn't need someone flaming it. </p><p>nonetheless, those of you who comment REAL long comments (you know who you are) i want to say that words would not be enough to let you know how much this means for me. i'd most likely spam you with heart and sunflower emoji but i don't feel like that would be fair when you say such lovely things to me. </p><p>*<br/>gen: so, to sum it up, you want to go to space in your own rocket?<br/>senkuu: yeah<br/>gen: <br/>gen: you know what, that's actually not the craziest thing i've heard you say so good luck<br/>yuzuriha &amp; taiju: look at him, he's learning</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>see, this is exactly what happens when you write at ungodly hours of the night because you can't sleep but you can't stare at the walls like a fool either.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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